


Timer

by halseam



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bisexual Evan Hansen, F/F, Gay Connor Murphy (Dear Evan Hansen), Gay Jared Kleinman, M/M, PLEASE read my new fic ‘serendipity’ i actually give a shit about that one, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, or do they, the ladies are lesbians, timer counting down to when you’ll meet your soulmate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 12:16:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 59,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14164650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halseam/pseuds/halseam
Summary: A light blue wall has never looked so interesting through the silence.Silence.Wait, what? Where’s the annoying tick, tick, tick, that’s constantly at the back of his mind?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Literally just an edited version of my first deh oneshot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please read my newest fic 'serendipity' its so much better than this one  
>  https://archiveofourown.org/works/15908571

Connor wakes up as soon the sun forces itself through the curtains and blinds him. Ah yes, five in the morning, an amazing time to wake up on your first day of senior year and last day alive.  
He spends a few minutes blankly staring at the ceiling, a tiny ticking sound echoing at the back of his mind with his breathing, his fingers curling and uncurling every few seconds. Accepting the fact that, yes, he will never be able to fall back asleep with the sun being an asshole, he stands up and wipes the hair from his face, grabbing a tin from his pyjama drawer and silently creeps out his window into the backyard.  
There, he sits on one of the benches smoking, opening and closing apps a few seconds later, waiting for the time on his phone to turn to 6 am, where he would go inside and listen to his mom wake up and begin her daily routine of waking everyone up and beginning breakfast. His mind is blank and the ticking sound is almost gone, like a vague memory he’s trying to forget yet it still keeps crawling back, yet the numbers on his wrist are still there, dark blue and counting down.  
God what he would do to get rid of the numbers. Each time he wakes up on his birthday, his mom asks him about the numbers. “What are they at now?” “How much longer?” “I sure hope you find her this year!” Ah yes, because Connor Murphy is one hundred percent, definitely heterosexual. Women, man, they’re just the greatest. Boobs! Wow, amazing.  
His head feels spacey and floaty, it feels like only a few minutes have passed from when he’s flicking out a joint butt to the time he’s at the breakfast table staring blankly into a bowl of cereal, while his mom fusses over everything- refilling coffee, pouring more orange juice, taking away dirty dishes.  
“Big day, hey, Connor?”  
“Yep,”  
She sees the look in his eyes. “It’s your senior year, Connor, you are not missing the first day,”  
“Look, I said I’d go tomorrow. I’m trying to find a compromise here.”  
She goes on to bug Larry, who makes less than half an effort on her part, which leads to Zoe accusing him of being high.  
“Oh, fuck you.” Connor lets his head fall in his folded arms.  
“Fuck you,” Zoe calls back with a mouth full of cereal.  
Cynthia then goes on to accuse him of _not_ being high, to which instead of proving her right, he proves Zoe right.  
He leaves the room, pulling his rucksack along with him. Then he’s being dragged out the door and placed in the car by Cynthia and she’s driving her kids to school. He stares out the window to passing trees and his mind drifts off to the stash of pills in his drawer next to his socks. What he would do to get to them right now. No, he can’t. First, he’s being dropped off at school. Second, it’s too dangerous. He thinks about everyone’s schedules. Larry is gone all day until six. Cynthia will be home until noon, then gone until four.  
That’s when he’ll do it. Ditch at lunch hour.  
Sounds like a plan.  
And so he walks inside, hands gripping his messenger bag so tightly his knuckles turn white as he walks through the halls with whispers muttered at him. Not at him, no, about him to other people. “I thought he got expelled?” “He usually skips the first day.” “I thought he would’ve, y’know... over the break.”  
He’s used to the whispers by now, that still doesn’t mean they don’t go over his head. But, god, of course someone needs to actually _say_ something to him.  
“Hey, Connor! Loving the new hair length, very school shooter chic,”  
Connor glares at Kleinman. He hears that insult all the time, but they’re always in little whispers and genuine fear, not loudly in the hall and with a grin on their face.  
“It-it was a joke,”  
“Yeah, no it was funny.” Connor advances a few steps. “Am i not laughing hard enough for you? Ha-fucking-ha,”  
Kleinman turns around with a raised eyebrow, “you’re such a freak,” leaving another boy in a striped blue polo pathetically standing there. He lets out a small laugh.  
“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Connor takes another few steps forward to the other. He obviously catches him off guard. “Stop fucking laughing at me,”  
“No, I’m not-“  
“Oh, you think I’m the freak?”  
“No, I-I don’t-“  
“I’m not the freak, you’re the fucking freak.”  
He’s rushing through the hall after pushing the other to the ground, shoving people out of the way on his travel to the out-of-order bathroom. It’s the only place he can really go, everywhere else has teachers and students and he can’t go home for obvious reasons. He slams one of the stall doors shut and kicks the wall, leaning his forehead on it silently only a few seconds later.  
“Connor, what the hell?” Zoe’s voice rings in through the silence. He can hear the anger and disappointment in her voice. He cringes at the volume.  
“Fuck off.”  
“No, tell me what happened. That was completely uncalled for, alright? The kid has a broken arm and you push him to the ground like he’s a ragdoll?”  
“He was fucking laughing at me with Kleinman,”  
“Okay, and?! Still not a good reason to push him to the floor, you dumbass,”  
Connor pulls the stall door open and flips Zoe off before closing it again.  
“I expect you to apologize to him sometime today. Or, just do something nice. Sign his cast or some shit, no one else has. His name is Evan Hansen, by the way.” He can hear the door to the hallway open and close again, Zoe muttering something else under her breath.  
She might have a good idea. Do something nice before he’s gone forever, so at least one person has a good last memory. He decides on following Hansen somewhere, anywhere, and signing his cast. It’s not an original idea, but it’s the best he can come up with. A light blue wall has never looked so interesting through the silence.  
Silence.  
Wait, what? Where’s the annoying tick, tick, tick, that’s constantly at the back of his mind? It seems too quiet without it there, he can hear himself breathing in and out without being interrupted by a clock. His eyes widen and shoot straight to his wrist. He takes up the sleeve and stares at the numbers. -00y/00m/00d/00h/08m it says. A groan forms in the back of his throat and he wipes his face with his palm. Where was he eight minutes ago? What- _Kleinman_.  
He sighs. No, Kleinman had already left eight minutes ago. He was- yelling at Hansen. Of course. This is just his luck, getting paired up by the _magical grand scheme of the universe_ with Hansen, a kid he doesn’t even know.  
His shoulders suddenly feel heavy and his throat is dry. May as well start heading to home room, the bell is going to ring in less than a minute. 

 

Hansen is the only other one in the computer lab when Connor enters slowly.  
The printer begins whirring as Hansen logs out of one of the computers and chews on his thumbnail, Connor grabbing the paper from the printer so he has an excuse to speak to Hansen.  
“So, uh, how’d you break your arm?” Connor asks, Hansen jumping at the sudden break of silence.  
“Oh, I, uh, I fell out of a tree, actually,” Hansen cradles his broken arm. It’s a sad sight, even sadder considering no ones signed it.  
“You fell out of a tree?” Connor raises an eyebrow and can’t help but laugh. “Well, that is just the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, oh my god,”  
Hansen laughs along awkwardly. “Yeah...”  
They stand in a tense silence for a few seconds. “No ones signed your cast?” Connor points out.  
“Yeah, no, I know,”  
“I’ll sign it.” He shrugs, trying to act calm through his internal panic.  
“Oh, no, you don’t have to...”  
“Do you have a Sharpie?”  
Hansen digs around in his pocket and pulls out a shiny new Sharpie, placing it in Connor’s hand. Connor takes Hansen’s arm, probably too rough, considering it emits a small ‘ow’ from Hansen. He signs his name is big black letters, making sure to fill up the entire cast so Hansen doesn’t feel as lonely.  
Hansen eyes the name. “Oh, thanks.”  
“Yeah, well, now we can both pretend that we have friends, right?”  
Hansen nods silently and heads for the printer, getting stopped by Connor quickly.  
“Is this yours? I saw it on the printer. Evan, that’s your name right? Evan Hansen?” Connor glances down at the paper and spots, “‘because there’s Zoe’?”  
“Oh, no, sorry, that’s just-“ Hansen takes the top of the paper in his good hand. “I thought that I- uh- but now! Please can you just give it back to me, I need it, please,”  
Instead of giving it back, Connor reads on and tightens his grip. “Shit, you’re as fucked up as me,”  
Hansen’s eyes widen somehow even more as Connor’s words. Connor lightens his grip and lets Hansen take it. Hansen begins speed-walking out for the lunch hour before being stopped by Connor.  
“Hey, uh, I noticed something this morning.” He says before Hansen has the chance to reach even the door. “The numbers. When I looked at mine they said negative eight minutes or some shit. I thought what I was doing and I- this is fucking stupid- I was yelling at you,”  
“O-okay,” Hansen replies, obviously uncomfortable.  
“Hey, if you wanna, like, talk or some shit, can I give you my number? That letter just made my brain go ‘shit’.”  
Hansen blushes a deep crimson and nods, shakily taking his cell phone from his backpack and giving it to Connor. Connor enters his number and name and hands the phone back, walking out of the computer lab quickly while Hansen just stands there, completely still and saying nothing.  
“Hey, uh, thanks,” Hansen says right before Connor is completely out of earshot. “See you, uh, see you tomorrow?”  
Connor nods. “Yeah, sounds good,”  
He only walks a few steps before realising that he needs to show up tomorrow, for Hansen’s sake. The walk back home isn’t full of his family’s happy faces when they find him dead, instead Hansen's crumpling when they announce it on the loudspeaker. He has a gut feeling that’s what would happen, although they’ve only had one civil conversation, it simply seems like something Hansen would do.  
Connor runs a hand over his face then runs it through his hair. Gotta wait for at least another day. Great.


	2. Chapter Two

Connor sighs.   
He looks at himself in the mirror.   
Under his eyes are purple and his face is pale and he looks like a mess. It’s disgusting.   
He spent the entire night lying awake, contemplating whether he should have taken the pills. On one hand, being alive is horrible. It’s a prison that he’s locked up in on life sentence. On the other hand, who knows. Shit might get better. He and Evan might actually become friends.   
And then he remembers his temper and the fact that Evan is probably just staying with him in pity.   
And then he remembers how the ticking stopped and the negative eight minutes and everything and nothing and why do soulmates exist?  
Connor groans.   
He lets his head fall into his hands.   
His hair is messy and his nail polish is chipped and he looks like a mess. It’s disgusting.   
But he pulls through.   
Letting his feet carry him out the bathroom, down the stairs, and into the dining room where his family is eating breakfast, he thinks about how he and Evan never arranged where to meet.   
He’ll text him on the way to school.   
Wait. Damn it.   
_He_ gave _Evan_ his number.   
Ah well. He’ll just go to the computer lab again.   
“Connor, go get dressed. We leave in five minutes.”  
Connor avoids eye contact with anyone as he follows Cynthia’s instructions. Suddenly, he’s back in the front seat of her car and on the way to school.   
“What are the numbers at now?” Cynthia asks, obviously trying to break the silence.   
Connor has to check the date on his phone to make sure it’s not his birthday. Nope. Still September second. Still not for a few more months.  
“I dunno. Stopped paying attention,”  
“Can you check?”  
“I _can_ ,”  
“Connor-“  
“I really don’t feel like it,”  
“Sweetie, I’m just wondering,”  
“It’s not any of your business either. Soulmates are bullshit, honestly.”  
“I don’t like that lan-“  
“Alright. Bye, mom!”  
Connor leaves the car and walks toward the front door of the school. He has a feeling she’ll be asking more often now, so now that he’s getting older. Rumours from ‘back in the day’ said that if you didn’t meet your soulmate by the time you were- what- 20 or so, you were destined to lead an extremely boring and lonely life. The rumours were proven wrong a few years back, but Cynthia refuses to believe it.   
A dirty blonde head races through the halls. A long haired brunette head follows.   
The dirty blonde head stops at a locker and unlocks it to grab a few books. The long haired brunette head stops next to him.   
“Hey.” Connor says.   
Evan jumps about four feet in the air, dropping his books in the process.   
“Shit- sorry,” Connor apologises by helping Evan pick up his books.   
“N-no it’s fine. Uh, what are you doing… here?” Evan seems to realise it’s a dumb question before finishing but finishes anyway.   
“What, I can’t visit one of my inmates before we’re subjected to eight hours of prison?”  
“Oh…”  
“I’m joking. What do you have first?”  
Evan fumbles with his timetable and reads it aloud to Connor. “First I have history, then chemistry, then gym, then math, then lunch hour, then everything else, I guess,”  
“Alright. Um, when do you wanna meet? And where? I realised we never talked about that yesterday.”  
“After school by the front doors?”  
“Works for me.”  
Evan nods once then stares at the clock. “Sorry, I have to get to homeroom. Bye!”  
Connor watches Evan walk away. They wave at each other like he’s seen friends do.   
“Bye.”

The air coming in through the front doors is freezing.   
Connor, for once in his life, is regretting not wearing a heavier jacket in September. It usually doesn’t get this cold this early, considering how close they are to the equator.   
Actually, they’re not very close. They’re closer to Canada than the equator. So it’s sort of reasonable it’s this cold already. Still, he regrets not wearing a heavier jacket. He knows he would have if he knew it was going to end up this cold.   
“What are you thinking about?”  
Evan snaps Connor from his thoughts of geography and jackets.   
“Nothing. Doesn’t matter. Where do you wanna go?”  
“O-oh. I thought you figured that out?” Evans face drops as he says it.   
“Nope.” Connor stops to think for a second, “My car is at home. We could go grab that then go somewhere?”  
“Yeah! Sounds good!” Evans face lights up.   
He looks genuinely excited.   
It makes Connor feel bad for half a second.   
Is this kid seriously so desperate for friends he’s excited about hanging out with Connor Murphy?  
What about Kleinman? They were talking yesterday.   
“So…” Connor says as they cross the road away from their school, “what do you do for fun?”  
“Me? Not much. I-I read? Not much, though. Like, books about trees and botany and stuff. No fiction. It’s too far fetched for me. Sort of annoying. I do like Harry Potter, though. It’s the only fiction I can read without getting tired of. Strange, considering its wizards with unicorns and dragons and stuff. Possibly the most far fetched series out there. Well, not _the_ most, but you get what I mean. Right?”  
Connor is silent for a few seconds. “You talk a lot,”  
“Sorry… I should work on that,”  
Connor shakes his head and stares at a cloud. “No. I like it. I don’t have to talk.”  
Both are quiet, only the sound of wind and the occasional bird _screaming_ fills the air. Connors not sure whether he likes it or not.   
“You said trees, right? Books about trees,” he says.   
Evan nods, not saying a word. Connor has a feeling it’s his fault.   
“I know where we can go,”  
“Where?”  
“It’s a surprise.”  
Connor avoids eye contact and continues looking at the clouds the entire way back to his house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can probably see where chapter 3 is going  
> Also I really like repeating paragraphs but changing it up a bit each time can you tell


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a majority of this at like 1 an after watching a bunch of comedy things on netflix so it gets weird in a couple parts.

Connors house comes into view, slowly but surely, as a large yellow bus drives away the opposite direction. His sister is unlocking the front door and making her way in as two boys make their way toward the driveway.   
“I just need to grab my keys,” Connors hand stops on the handle as he turns to Evan, “wait out here?”  
Evan stands still and nods hesitantly. Connor nods as well. He makes his way inside, where Zoe is already sitting at the table eating grapes.   
Connor reaches into the bowl of keys Cynthia got a few years back to ‘keep this house a little more organized.’ He finds it empty, when there should be at least one set, maybe two if Zoe put hers away.  
“Where are my keys?” He asks.  
“Why weren’t you on the bus?” She doesn’t hesitate, as if she were already going to ask him with no reason to.   
“I walked.” He moves to the doorway of the dining room, “Where are my keys?”  
Zoe shrugs. “Dunno.”  
With that, Connor races up the stairs and into his parents ensuite bathroom. They’ve always hid his stuff in the ensuite, whether it be his keys or his saxophone from when he was eleven, they always do. He’s not sure whether they know he knows, but he knows either way and hopes they will never know he knows where they hide his shit.   
In Larry’s cabinet, behind a half empty bottle of dark blue cologne and his medication, lays Connors keys. All of them are there, all right.   
He takes them in his hands and leaves, barely sparing a glance at Zoe as she begins interrogating him on where he found them and _how_ he found them and where he’s going. Evan is waiting on the bench when Connor shuts the front door again, standing up in surprise and following the other to the car without a word.   
Connor starts up the car as Evan enters it, not a single word spoken between the pair.   
“Uh, where are we going?” Evan asks, watching in the mirror as Connor drives away from the large house.   
“I’ll tell you when we get there.” He pauses. It sounds too menacing, too vague, too… scary. Considering it’s Connor that’s saying it as well, to Evan, a kid known for having anxiety, it sounds like a murder is about to take place. Connor never understood that theory about himself. Sure, death is fascinating and the amount of times he’s threatened to kill himself, it wouldn’t be a surprise, but the thought of taking _someone else’s_ life is too much to handle. “I’m not going to kill you, don’t worry.”  
Evans eyes widen for a second as he stares at the road ahead. He’s leaning just a little bit away from Connor, enough to not be noticeable by the normal person, but for the Murphy, oh, it’s noticeable. Connor tightens his grip on the steering wheel as he realises why Evan is leaning away. It’s annoying, really.  
“Seriously. Murder is fucking insane and anyone that even thinks about committing it is even more insane,” Connor tries reassuring Evan. Evan just gives him a small nod and uncomfortable smile through the rear view mirror.   
Not another word is spoken between them as they drive through the industrial area and are driving on the highway. To both sides, are miles and miles of grass and farms. The grass isn’t green, though, but a patchy yellow and brown carpet-looking thing. It’s not unusual in September, so Connor doesn’t think much of it.   
Trees begin showing up at the side of the road with the fields, dirt roads turning off at certain points to large areas of land. It’s familiar. He’s driven down this road countless times through his entire life. He doubts he’ll stop any time soon. Finally, as if it’s a second thought, Connor hangs a left and begins down a long gravel road.   
“We’re almost there,” Connor says, noticing Evan looking up at the trees in pure enjoyment, “hold your excitement.”  
He hangs a right and begins, slower this time, down a smaller gravel road, with little ditches on either side. And then to a small, empty, dirt parking lot and parks the car. Surrounding the lot is a tall wooden fence, with countless trees beyond it, and a small wood hut. On the hut has a broken sign with the letters, in chipped and faded paint, _Au n mi e ppl Orc ard_  
“Welcome to Aunmie people or card!” Connor says, mentally laughing at his weak attempt at a joke. Evan awkwardly laughs along, with a small ‘yeah’ to accompany it.   
Connor doesn’t say another word as he exits the car and starts walking toward the little hut. Evan is behind him, for sure. The little hut is almost completely empty, except for an old flashlight and used condom stashed in the corner. He grimaces.   
“What is this place?” Evan asks as they step out of the hut, to be greeted with tens of rows of trees.   
“Autumn Smile Apple Orchard. Me and my family used to come here all the time when me and Zoe were younger.” Connor steps away and looks around. “It’s seen better days.”  
Many of the trees have broken branches surrounding them, old apples strewn about by birds, and instead of the bright green leaves he remembers, there’s just yellow leaves with brown spots.   
“I dunno… I like it.”  
Evans voice is not confident in the slightest. Connor turns around to see Evan staring up at the trees in wonder.   
“You said you liked trees.” Connor shrugs, walking further down the row. He can see Evan nod out of the corner of his eye.   
As he walks, the rustling of trees picks up with the wind. A group of birds fly overhead, screaming at the top of their lungs, stopping in the topmost branches of a tree a few rows away.   
“Terrifying motherfuckers,” Connor mutters.   
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone that’s scared of birds.” Evan seems to just… appear at Connors side. The walk together.  
“I dunno. Not really scared of them, per sé, I just don’t trust them. Don’t know what they’re thinking most of the time,”  
Evan nods and eyes the birds. “Yeah…” he pauses, seeming to think for a second, “fair enough.”  
The short conversation stops there. The pair walk side by side through the row of trees, staring up and admiring the yellow leaves. At least that’s on Connors part. He’s not quite sure what’s going on in Evans head. It’s probably something really lame, like random facts about the trees. That wouldn’t surprise Connor, if he’s being honest.   
“How long has it been since someone’s been here?”  
“It closed, like, seven years ago. Maybe eight. It’s really only been teens to have sex and do drugs since then. And me.” He looks down to see Evan squinting in curiosity at a few trees. “Why?”  
“They’re in really good shape considering how long it’s been. Healthy. Ish. Healthier than I’d expect for seven years of being left alone. Does the city come here and take care of them?”  
“Honestly? No clue. It’s sort of illegal to be here without permission, no trespassing signs used to be everywhere, so I just hide when I’m here and hear someone. I doubt it’s ever someone from the city.”  
“We’re breaking the law?” Evan asks, his voice higher than usual. “Moms gonna kill me.”  
“No, were not breaking the law. The worst thing that would happen would be, like, we’d be fined 50 bucks or something. No jail time would be served.” He pauses. “Don’t worry.”  
Evan takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay. Okay, good.”  
Running water can be heard faintly. Connor can’t remember there being water here. There’s never been- wait! There is. In the distance, a tiny stream says its hello. In an arch above the stream stands a short wooden bridge, which looks fairly new. Newer than Connor would have expected, anyway. Across the bridge is a short hill with cigarette butts scattered in one section. Evan scrunches up his nose is disgust out the corner of Connors eye.   
“Disgusting, I know.” Connor remarks, stopping and looking up the hill. There’s a small building there.   
It’s tiny. Probably the size of Connor’s living room. It’s painted a light shade of pink, though, just like the sign on the hut, the paint is chipped and faded to the point you can barely make out the letters above the broken door. There’s one visible window, it’s broken, obviously. A memory sneaks it’s way into Connors head of the building before the orchard closed down.   
“Oh my god,” he mutters.  
“What?” Evan follows his gaze to the building. “What’s in there?”  
“There used to be a tiny café. Highly doubt it’s still up and running, now.” Connor takes a short step toward the stream. “You wanna see it?”  
Evan hesitated before nodding.   
They walk across the bridge, up the hill, and creep their way into the old café. It’s dark. Too dark. Connor wishes he had grabbed that flashlight as he looks around the room. To the right stands a long counter with broken refrigerators and ovens behind it. All across the rest of the room are tables and chairs. Most of them are knocked over or broken in some other way. All the chairs are in the same state, well, the ones that are still here. Connor wonders how the rest of the chairs disappeared.   
In the furthest corner, a table and two chairs stand alone. The chairs are ripped and the table is slightly crooked, but other than that, it’s the best in shape of the whole room.   
Connor takes one stride before getting a face full of spider webs. Right. That happens when somewhere is abandoned.   
“Damn…” a thick layer of dust comes up off the counter with Connors finger. He blows it off and immediately sneezes.   
“I don’t like it in here,” Evan whispers from the doorway, looking around. Light from the sun shines in on the broken wood floor, showing the greying in some places and weeds growing in others. Connor nods in agreement.   
“At least we have somewhere to hide if someone from the city comes.” Connor remarks as he makes his way down the hill again. He stops a foot or two from the bridge before stepping to the side and sitting in the grass only inches from the water.   
Evan sits next to him.   
“So… Harry Potter?”  
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Evans head shoots up then back down to stare into the water.   
“Which one is your favourite?”  
“Probably… the Prisoner of Azkaban. But that’s everyone’s favourite, so I don’t know if it counts. It’s still good, though. Exciting. Before it got more real-world-ish. Definitely the best one, second is the Half Blood Prince. Well, actually, the Half Blood Prince has sex and stuff in it which makes me sort of uncomfortable but I just skip over it so I’m not uncomfortable. Mom didn’t skip over it when she read them to me, though, which isn’t that great, you know? Like, who reads about sex to a seven year old? You know?” Evan ends with a small laugh.   
“Hm,” Connor hums in response. “My favourite one was probably the Deathly Hallows. Really exciting, detailed. Lots of stuff to remember.”  
“You’ve read them?”  
“Yeah, in grade, like, nine or something. Was late to the game, I guess,” Connor shrugs, picking at the grass. “I can reread it so many times without getting bored. My-” Connor stops and laughs lightly. “I was about to say ‘my family is probably concerned’ but, honestly? They could care less,”  
“Oh, uh, I’m sorry… about that,” Evan mumbles.   
“I’ve gotten used to it.”  
They fall into silence again, Connor playing with grass and Evan squinting at the trees. Connors not sure whether it’s calming or tense, he just knows he likes it.   
A vibration break the silence.   
Evan pulls a phone out of his pocket and stares at it for a few seconds before putting it away.   
“My mom is going to be home for dinner tonight, so, uh. We should probably head back now. Only if you want to. You don’t have to. I can go and you can stay, if you’d like?”  
Connor looks up and raises an eyebrow at the other. “You’re not walking all the way back to your place. I’m driving you.”  
“Oh… kay.” They stand. “Do you know where I live?”  
“You can give me directions once we get back into town.”


	4. Chapter Four

The moment Connor enters his house, he’s bombarded with questions from Cynthia.   
“Where were you? What were you doing? How did you find your keys?”  
Connor passes her, placing his keys in the little bowl on his way, calmly saying, “out. Nothing illegal. You guys aren’t good at hiding things.”  
Cynthia stops pestering him, but instead half-glares at him as he walks upstairs. She stands still in the foyer as Zoe stops Connor half way up the stairs.   
“Did you apologize to Evan?” Zoe asks, crossing her arms.   
He cringes. “Yeah.”  
“Evan? Who’s Evan?” Cynthia’s voice is that of pure joy. “Oh my goodness, is he who you were with today?” She pauses, then quietly adds in awe, “is he your friend?”  
“I was with him today, I just wouldn’t consider him a-“  
“Oh my goodness Connor, that’s amazing!” Cynthia climbs the few steps Connor made before enveloping her son in a congratulatory hug. Zoe obviously tries not to laugh. Connor mouths a threat at his sister before she turns away and leaves for her own bedroom. Cynthia pulls away from her son. She examines his face. “You look so tired, honey. Why don’t you go take a nap?” She begins back down the stairs. “Oh! Why don’t you invite Evan over for dinner?”  
“I can’t.”  
Cynthia stops in the arch to the dining room. “Why?”  
“First, his mom is making him dinner. Second, I don’t have his number,”  
“Invite him over for dinner tomorrow, then! You can ask him at school,”  
Connor nods. “Great.” He runs a hand through his hair as he enters his bedroom. Maybe Cynthia is right. A nap sounds great right now. 

“Evan!” Connor calls through an empty hall for Evan, who is standing completely still with his hand on the handle for one of the computer labs.   
“Uh, hi?” Evan waves awkwardly as Connor jogs over.   
“Kinda let it slip that we were together yesterday and now my mom wants you over for dinner today. Is that cool?”  
Evan opens the door and they enter the small computer lab side by side.   
“Uh, yeah. I guess?” Evan mutters. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never really, you know, uh, been invited to someone’s house because they wanted to and not their parents. Oh! Oh, your mom wants me over. Sorry, never mind, that was stupid. It’s just… I dunno…”  
“You don’t have to apologize for everything,”  
“Sorry. Oh, s- I mean, you know what I mean,”  
Connor laughs as he sits in one of the chairs at the back of the room. “I know what you mean,”  
“Good. Thanks,”  
“Pas de problème.” Connor mutters without thinking, staring at the ceiling and spinning lazily on the chair.   
“French?”  
Connor looks to one of the desks to see Evan staring at him and squinting. Either Evan has really bad eyesight or he does that when thinking. Either is a possibility.   
“Yeah. Larry made me take it as an out of school class a few years ago. Barely remember any of it,” he explains, directing his focus back on the ceiling. The little holes make pictures. He can make out a dog, Tinker Bell, and a giant letter S at first glance.   
“Who’s Larry?”  
“Sperm giver.”  
“Oh. Oh! Why… why do you refer to him as… that?”  
“You kidding me?” Connor sits up and raises an eyebrow. “The dude barely refers to me as his son, the last time I heard him do so was when i was, like, thirteen and I got in shit at school for flushing the principals keys down the toilet. _We did not raise our son like this._ ” Connor takes a moment to laugh. “Why should I call him my dad if he won’t call me son?”  
“Oh. He is you dad, though.” Evan takes a deep breath. “He sort of deserves some level of respect, right?”  
“Not when he won’t respect me,”  
“What if you, I dunno, tried?”  
“You don’t get this, do you?” Connor slouches, raising an eyebrow at Evan. “The dude won’t give me a chance. Every single night, _you have a girlfriend yet? You thinking about college? You gonna clean yourself up?_ No to all of those. I answer his questions and suddenly he’s angry at me and we’re screaming and throwing plates.”  
“That, uh, that won’t happen tonight, right?”  
Connor scoffs. “Yes because my mother would definitely let that happen,”  
“S- okay. Good,”  
They fall quiet before Evan turns around and begins typing on the computer for the rest of lunch hour.

Connor’s hand pauses on the door handle. He knits his eyebrows together and stares at a flake of chipped red paint. Cynthia will definitely fix that up soon. He turns around to see Evan waiting there, chewing his nails and balancing on the heels of his feet.   
“Be…” Connor sighs, closing his eyes in exasperation as Cynthia spots them from the living room window, “be careful. She can be a bit much,”  
The door swings open and there stands Cynthia, beaming in excitement at Evan. She ushers the pair inside, encouraging them to take their shoes off and Evan to make himself at home.   
Evan and Connor share a look and she pushes them into the living room.   
“Dinner will be ready soon! Vegetarian lasagna!” She calls on her way back into the kitchen. “Zoe! Get down here and welcome our guest!”  
Because Connor can’t whatsoever.   
Evan slowly sits next to Connor on one of the couches, a _click, click, click_ sound emitting as he chews his nails. Zoe enters the living room, obviously, and not trying to hide it, hating it. She glares at Connor and smiles at Evan and sits on the other couch.   
“Welcome.” Her voice is full of contempt.   
“Th-thanks. Uh, it’s, it’s nice.”  
Connor makes a face of pure disgust at Evans reaction. Evan has a stutter, it’s obvious, he’s just confused as to why- right. _Because there’s Zoe_. Connor rolls his eyes and stares at the ceiling. Straight people.  
The three sit in silence, the only sound is that of Evan biting his nails. It’s not annoying, per sé, it’s just. Connor can’t pinpoint how it makes him feel. It’s not comforting, nor _not_ comforting. It seems familiar, in a way. A strange way. Connor changes his mind. It’s also annoying. Yeah. Definitely annoying.   
The ringing of dishes bumping into each other comes from the dining room, indicating Cynthia is setting the table. Zoe leaps from her spot on the couch to help set it, obviously willing to do anything to get away from this room and her brother. They stick their tongues out at each other as she leaves, not in the ‘haha were siblings and really close’ way, instead in the ‘you deserve no level of respect from me’ way. It used to hurt. They’ve gotten used to it by now.   
“Why the hell do you like her?” Connor whispers, leaning toward Evan slightly.   
“Huh? Oh, uh. _Used to_ ,” Evan corrects, “but I guess because she’s pretty and funny, I guess. Not in a creepy way. I’ve just heard her with her friends at school oh god that seems even more creepy but, like, also her- her smile and at her jazz band concerts and her doodles and- sorry. This is weird. Just… never mind,”  
“Yeah. Not weird at all,” Connor says, his voice dripping sarcasm. Evan shrinks back and bounces his leg, presumably out of nail.   
A putrid scent fills the room. It smells of old spinach and dog shit. Dinners ready, Connor decides, so he stands and makes his way to the dining room, where there’s an extra chair on one side. Connor stands still, pretending to wonder where to sit. He knows very well, though. Cynthia would never sit their guest next to Connor, no matter how excited she was to invite him over.   
Evan arrives at his side. Zoe sits on the side with the extra chair. Connor across from her. Larry and Cynthia on each end. Evan makes his way around and lands in the seat next to Zoe’s.  
“So, Evan,” Cynthia grins. A genuine grin. It’s been years since Connor has seen anything like it, “how do you and Connor know each other?”  
“Connor pushed him in the hall,” Zoe says, her voice stinging. Larry and Connor glare at her.   
“I’m sure Evan can speak for himself, honey.” Cynthia turns back to Evan.   
“That’s, uh, that’s kind of spot on. He- apologized to me, though! That’s how we, uh, we organized yesterday, I guess,”  
“Did he sign your cast?” Larry asks.   
“No, a different Connor did because everyone offered and he only accepted me,” Connor replies sarcastically, rolling his eyes and glaring at Larry.   
“Not tonight, please.” Cynthia’s voice is tired. “But that’s sweet!” She stares at Evans arm. Then the other one. “Your cast is over your numbers?”  
“Jesus Christ…” the siblings say in complete unison, both tired of Cynthia’s obsession with the numbers.   
“Uh, yeah. I mean, I can still see the edge of the last one. It’s a six, I think,” Evan says, looking around the table. He makes brief eye contact with Connor, who offers a small smile. Evan takes it.   
“Oh, well. You’ll see it when it comes off.” Cynthia takes a bite of her very own vegan lasagna (obviously trying not to gag) before turning to Connor. “What do your numbers say?”  
Connor takes a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter,”  
“I’m just wondering,”  
“It’s my right whether I want to tell you or not. And I don’t want to. Can we leave it there?”  
“Okay… I hope you meet her soon, though,”  
Connor chokes on his water. _Her_.  
Cynthia turns to Zoe. “What about-“  
“Eight days, eighteen hours, forty seven minutes.” Zoe sounds bored as she plays with the lasagna.   
Connor looks at Evan with his head bowed. The table is silent except for Cynthia’s knife and fork squeaking on her plate or the occasional cough. After what seems like an eternity, Zoe stands up, immediately followed by Larry, so it’s just Evan, Connor, and Cynthia sat in a small triangle on one end of the table.   
“Who do you think your soulmate might be, Evan?” Cynthia smiles warmly at Evan.   
“Oh, uh-“  
“Me and Evan are going up to my room now. Thanks for the dinner, mom, it was great,” Connor stands and leaves the room, waiting just around the corner for the other.   
“Okay, sweetie. Have fun.”  
Evan arrives. He jumps, obviously not expecting Connor to be standing right there. A small apology exits Connor mouth as he leads the other upstairs and into his room.   
“Sorry about her,”  
“I dunno, sort of expected it. From your warning, you know?”   
Connor sits on the edge of his bed. Evan joins him.   
“So, like,” Evan sighs, “you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to I’m just wondering and I don’t want to assume anything but, um, what are you?”  
“What… am I?” Connor repeats, confused beyond confusion. “Human?”  
“Like, sexuality, you know? Gay, bisexual?”  
“Oh!” Connor lets out a loud laugh. “I was really confused for a second there. I’m gay. Extremely,”  
“And… they don’t know?”  
“Why do they need to? Not really their business.” Connor shrugs.   
“Your mom was referring to your soulmate as a girl, though. I just thought, maybe, I dunno… This is stupid, I’m sorry.” Evan hides his face in his hands.   
“Oh, I’ve thought about that. Many times. I’ll tell her when I stop finding it funny.” Connor plays with his thumbs. “What about you?”  
Evan sighs. “I don’t know. Bisexual, maybe. I mean, I was paired with you, so definitely not straight,”  
Connor nods his head. “It takes time.”  
Silence finds its way into the room once again. Connor sighs. Evans right. He should probably tell his family. He would, he just doesn’t know how they feel about gays or anything. They’ve definitely not been the most supportive, but Cynthia would never do anything to be unsupportive. What about Zoe? She is not on the list of the first people he wants to tell. She’s probably number five or six.   
It’s a strange thought, thinking about how to tell people he’s gay. How would he do it? In the car on the way to school? No, that’s too early in the day. At dinner? That’s too cliché. On a holiday is also too cliché. Connor groans and lays down.   
“Are we gonna talk about the whole ‘soulmates’ thing or what?” Connor asks, staring at a glow in the dark star stuck to his ceiling.   
“I dunno. Maybe? My mom said that soulmates could also be, like, friends. That could be the case with us,”  
Connor sighs. “Here’s the thing…” he laughs, finishing the statement right there. He doesn’t want to elaborate on his own terms. If Evan wants him to elaborate, he will.   
“It’s very rare, though. Less than ten percent chance,” Evan continues, “What are we gonna do, then?”  
“We’ll see what the future holds. If it turns out we do, and I don’t want to sound like a twelve year old girl here, like _like_ each other, that’s cool. If we don’t, we’re in that ten percent.” Connor debates putting a ‘there’s no losing either way’ in there, but ultimately decides against it.   
“So… are we gonna talk about it?”  
“Maybe. Not right now. I have a feeling mom is on the other side of that door, listening to our conversation,”  
They share a smile at Connors joke, then quickly get distracted by the collection of books on Connors bookshelf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh yknow the classic dinner scene right after the orchard scene what am i doing with my life


	5. Chapter Five

Kleinman and Evan are standing together outside of Evan’s locker.   
Kleinman is talking quickly and loudly, looking everywhere but Evan, grinning ear to ear.   
Evan is extremely obviously annoyed as he tries to grab his books in peace and quiet. Connor can’t see him telling Kleinman that any time soon.   
Kleinman’s eyes land on Connor approaching the pair. He smirks, taps Evans shoulder, and whispers something in his ear, causing Evan to turn around and light up at the sight of Connor.   
“Hey,” Connor says, stopping beside Evan. The general area disperses at the presence of him. Evan seems to notice this and, while visibly feeling bad for the other, mouths a silent ‘thank you.’  
“So, Murphy. You and Evan, huh?” Kleinman smirks, raising an eyebrow.   
Connor’s eyebrows close in on each other. “What... about us?”  
“When were you planning on telling me? Huh?” Kleinman wraps an arm around Evans shoulders and pulls him close, “my boy has a boyfriend,” he baby-talks, passing Evans cheek.   
Connor groans. “We’re not dating. We’ve known each other for, what, four days? Besides, the very idea is absurd,”  
“Alright,” Kleinman raises his free arm, “I believe you. But, if you two do end up getting it on, both of you owe me ten bucks. Deal?”  
“I’m not making that deal,” Connor says, utterly deadpan, at the same time Evan mutters, “don't say ‘getting it on’,”  
“Fine. I’m staying by it even if you guys don’t.” Kleinman looks up at the clock. “Gotta go, catch y’all later!” He walks off, so animated Connor doesn’t have a hard time picturing him practicing it in his basement.   
“He just said ‘y’all.’” Evan buries his head in his hands.   
“Why do you know him?” Connor gestures behind himself to Kleinman, taking a small step forward and leaning against a locker.   
“Our parents are friends. Well, were friends, more like. They haven’t talked in a long time, since Jared and I were, like, thirteen or something. They only see each other on holidays but still act like they’re best friends,”  
Connor nods in understanding, or in pity. It’s a mystery, really. Evan takes a history textbook and blue binder from his locker while Connor stands there, pretending not to notice the people staring and whispering.   
“Oh my god Connor Murphy and Evan Hansen are friends?” “He’s definitely going to kill Evan. Why else would they talk?” “Something definitely wrong with him. I mean, who would hang out with that _freak_?”  
Connors hands tighten around the strap of his bag at that word.   
He wants to scream and punch and beat the shit out of whoever says it. He wants to pin them to the ground until their nose is bleeding and they have a black eye. He wants to scream in their face until they’re deaf.   
He wants to get expelled from this damn school, is the conclusion.   
The person that says it is a known bitch and ex-friend of Zoe’s.  
That makes his blood boil even hotter.   
She’s whispering to her friends while glaring at Connor and Evan respectively. He pictures his wishes.   
“What are you looking at, you freak?” She teases, laughing with her posse.   
“Stop fucking calling me freak, alright?” Connor raises his voice, stooping down to look her in the eye. “What the fuck have i ever done to you, huh? Huh?” He pauses for a response. She just stammers, looking for something to say. “Oh! That’s right! Absolutely nothing! If anything, I’d say you’re the freak, pretending you’re better than everyone and making fun of people that have done absolute shit to you,”  
“Connor,” Evan’s small voice arrives, “Connor- please,”  
That seems to help.   
Connor takes a sharp breath in and realizes how close he came to the girl. She visibly terrified and looks like she’s on the verge of tears. Connor backs up, glaring daggers at her. A hand slowly places itself on his upper arm, a comforting hand, a shaking hand.   
He looks down to see Evan staring at him. He takes a deep breath in and looks around at the people staring, horrified. Without speaking, Connor walks away, making sure Evan is with him his entire way down the hall. It’s emptied a bit with people already going to homeroom.   
“How do you feel about skipping first period?” Connor asks, focusing on walking as fast as possible.   
“You- uh- you don’t have your car, though. Right?”   
“There’s places we can go without my car, don’t worry.” Connor catches Zoe standing with her friends out the corner of his eye. She doesn’t make a move to see what happened for him to go this fast, so he doesn’t make a move to do so. “So you’re cool with it?”  
“I mean- sure. I guess?” Evan catches up and begins walking at the same speed as the other.   
Connor comes to an abrupt stop in front of a trophy case. He turns to Evan. “I don’t want you feeling pressured to,”  
“No, no. It’s fine. It’s just history. And the first week. Nothing _super_ exciting happens in the first week,” Evan says, smiling and nodding. “Thanks.”  
The bell rings and the last of the people begin dispersing for their homeroom classes. Connor looks around. He sighs.   
“Follow me,”  
And Evan does. They sort of blend in with the small crowd. At least they also look like humans. A broken door with small sharpie doodles all over it sits at the end of the hall, a janitors cart parked in front of it. Upon closer inspection, the door has a mostly peeled off ‘out of order’ sticker on it, and most of the doodles are of penises that the faculty has given up trying to wash off. It’s sort of funny, in a way.   
Connor pushes the cart out of the way of the door with his elbows and the door open slightly.   
“What is this?”  
Evan steps in the bathroom, looking around at it in all it’s broken tiled, spider-web-ridden, flickering lights glory. Connor notices him scrunching up his nose in disgust.   
“Old bathroom they never bothered to do anything with.” Connor sits down against one of the walls, letting his bag fall beside him lazily. “Sorry about the smell. I usually come here to blow off steam, which means I just come here to get high most of the time,”  
Evan sits next to him. “Why’d you use your elbows?”  
“Because I don’t want to get caught. Cameras don’t reach that door, and the only other way they can tell I've been in here from out there are fingerprints,”   
“You think things through a lot.”  
Connor is quiet while he stares at the wall for a few seconds. “I guess,”  
Echoey breathing is heard through the small room. Connor spaces out, almost falling asleep in the process, swearing not to just for Evan. Just so they can talk. So they can hang out. So they can, probably in the wise words of Kleinman, ‘chillax.’ Connor falls into imagining Kleinman in the most embarrassing of situations, such as practicing how to walk at seventeen years old, smirking, forgetting about everything else.   
“What’re you laughing at?” Evan asks, obviously trying not to laugh himself.   
“Hm?” Connor opens one eye to find Evan smiling at him. “Oh, nothing. Just casual stuff, y’know? Killing my enemies, killing myself, getting a cat.”  
Evan pauses, eyes wide. “You’re, uh, you’re joking about those first two, right?”  
Connor shrugs. His chest suddenly feels heavy. “Sort of,”  
Evans shoulders drop and he looks at his lap. Connor sits up, stretching out his legs and swallowing.   
“Sorry,” Connor mutters, placing a hand on Evans back slowly. It’s warm.   
“No, no, it’s fine- y’know? I get it. Joke about it to make it feel less of an issue, I understand,” Evan laughs awkwardly, wipes his hands on his pants, and shifts uncomfortably.   
Connor feels himself frown. His chest is unbelievably heavy yet light at the same time. As if he’s going to float away at any moment but is held down by a million sandbags. His throat closes up but he still has an easy time breathing. His hands don’t automatically go to fists when they are alone, instead they just lay there, doing nothing. His legs feel like jelly and stomach like he’s going to throw up.   
Oh no.   
This is not the time. 

“Connor, get in the damn car!” Zoe shouts from the driver's seat of their shared vehicle. Connor walks along the sidewalk slowly, so slowly, in fact, that Zoe could possibly park the car for a few minutes and Connor would still be in view. “You are not walking home in this weather!”  
He doesn’t argue.   
He doesn’t have the energy.   
He does, however, follow her instructions and settles himself in the passenger's seat, staring out the window at the grey sky. He can see a piece of a leaf in his hair out the corner of his eye. He doesn’t make a move to remove it.   
“Stop being so… you,” Zoe mutters.   
“Twelve year old you would say the opposite,”  
“Shut up,”  
“ _I’m Zoe and I think you should always be yourself_!”  
“ _I’m Connor and I try to look edgy in my black skinny jeans but I just look like I’m in constant pain_!”  
Connor doesn’t retaliate. Too much life would be sucked out of him.   
Instead, he looks outside at the trees. He imagines a world where he doesn’t exist.   
God, that would be great.   
His parents wouldn't have to pay for car damage every month.   
Zoe wouldn’t be threatened with death every week.   
People at school wouldn’t be scared to walk the halls every day.   
Evan… god. Where does he start.   
Evan wouldn’t suddenly be known as ‘the kid who’s friends with the freak.’ He wouldn’t have to be the one to calm Connor down, with only 50 percent chance of it working. He wouldn’t have to deal with Connor’s suicidal ‘jokes.’ He wouldn’t have to deal with possibly the worst soulmate to have.   
The car comes to an abrupt halt in the driveway. Zoe looks over to him.   
“You staying in here or coming in?”  
Connor shrugs, too tired to speak.   
“The spare’s in moms birdhouse.”  
The door opens and slams shut again, Connor not moving a muscle the whole time. His throat begins closing up again, the air becoming dense and his left eye twitching. Then his right. His breathing begins coming in small gulps.   
Oh no.   
Now is not the time. 

When he enters the house, wiping his eyes and nose with the sleeve of his hoodie, fifteen minutes later, Zoe is sat on the couch doing homework. She looks up at Connor.   
“Please don’t tell me you’re high,” Zoe slouches back.   
“Why do you think that?” Connor finds his voice still slightly shaky, yet not enough to raise much concern.   
“Your eyes are completely red, you dumbass.” Her phone chimes. A text. She reads it. “Moms gonna be home any minute now. Go, like, hide or something. Anything so she doesn’t see your eyes,”  
“I’m not high, you moron. I don’t have any pot in the car _or_ my bag.” His voice cracks. Zoe stifles laughter. “Shut up, you fucking idiot.” He takes her advice and begins a trek upstairs, pausing only to say, “don’t assume things about people,”  
“Yeah, because you’ve never done anything like it,” she mutters. Connor ignores her and enters his room, making sure to slam the door as hard as possible.   
His bed is like a rock and an oversized marshmallow at the same time. He knows he won’t fall asleep whatsoever, but will definitely come close a few times before snapping awake at the thought of death.   
It’s a strange thought, death. It’s always going to be there, poking and prodding at people around every corner and under every table. Always going to be a haunting thought at the back of everyone’s mind. Always going to be teasing you as you cross the street or go on a ferris wheel or are in a tall building. It has so much power for something Connor isn’t very scared of.   
Key word: _very_.   
He’s accepted the fact that he’s going to die someday. It’s inevitable. He’ll be there one second and gone the next.   
He’s just scared of what comes after that second second.   
Is it just nothingness? Do people really go to purgatory? Are heaven and hell real things? Does reincarnation exist? Do people just become ghosts and float around for the rest of time? If that’s the case, it must be pretty crowded in the ghost realm. What if they run out of room in the ghost realm and eventually stop accepting people? What happens then? Again, is it simply nothingness?  
What is nothingness? Connor’s mind immediately goes to a black abyss, yet, at the end of the day, that’s not nothing. That’s a black abyss.   
Is it a white abyss? The complete absence of colour in a space? A place where sound doesn’t exist, you can’t feel anything, scent is just an illusion. You can only see one thing. And that one thing is a white abyss.   
“Connor, sweetie, I’m home!” Cynthia opens the door just a crack.   
Connor stares at her from his standing position in the middle of the room. His eyes are glazed over and red and his face _feels_ pale. Well, paler than usual.   
“Are you okay, honey?” Connor nods. Cynthia takes a tentative step further into the room. She holds his face, “you don’t look okay.”  
Connor shrugs.   
“I’m going to run you a bath, okay? Get changed into some more comfortable clothes, after.”  
Connor shakes his head. “No, I’m fine,”  
“Are you sure?”  
He nods.   
“Okay,” Cynthia redacts her steps, “call me if you need anything.”  
“I will,”  
Her face is that of pure shock for a second before smiling warmly.   
Death is inevitable.   
It comes upon all of us sooner or later.   
But, damn, there are some people you wish just wouldn’t die. The people that still care after all the shit you put them through. The people that care even if they’ve known you for five minutes. The people you hate with your whole being, who hates you back, but will not let you walk halfway across the city alone in the cold. The people that will make sure you’re okay even if you’ve only known them for a few days.   
At least Connor has people that do that for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -idk i don’t think i like how this one turned out but it got some plot points for later out of the way  
> -sorry about that last bit. nothing like projecting your personal thoughts onto a fictional character that’s technically dead in canon  
> -i only have 2 prewritten chapters left i need to get writing


	6. Chapter Six

Friday.   
Possibly the best day of the week.   
Connor wakes up to Cynthia opening the door and slowly shaking him. It’s not the most ideal way, opening your eyes from dreamland to your mother's face above your own, but Connor would take it over how he woke up on Monday any day. Zoe is standing outside his bedroom, completely still and staring into space.  
Cynthia pulls the covers off of Connors bed and leaves the room, walking around Zoe in the process.   
“What the hell are you doing?” Connor’s voice snaps Zoe from her trance-like state. She mumbles incoherently, glares at her brother, then leaves the hall for breakfast. “Fucking weirdo,”  
Descending the stairs, Connor thinks about yesterday. What he would do to go back in time and say ‘don’t lash out’ or ‘don’t make that joke.’ He wonder what it would be like to actually be able to do that.   
Although, if he had the ability to go back in time and say anything to younger Connor, he knows, without a doubt, he would go back to his twelve year old self and say so many different things.   
‘Don’t start doing this,’ ‘don’t stop doing that,’ ‘start this,’ ‘stop that.’ But, 100 percent, the thing he would put the most emphasis on would be, ‘don’t start calling Zoe names. Control your temper and don’t take it out on her.’  
Too bad he can’t do that.   
Ah, well, he’s survived this far without advice from future Connor.   
He stares into his bowl of shreddies. He can feel someone’s gaze in the top of his head. It’s annoying as hell.   
“Mom.” The _sound_ of Zoe’s voice irritates him beyond oblivion. Cynthia makes a noise saying ‘go on.’ “You don’t have to drive Connor today. I can,”  
Connor’s head moves so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. Zoe and himself glare at each other before Zoe looks back up at Cynthia.   
“Are you sure?”  
Connor pretends it doesn’t hurt with an eye roll.   
Zoe nods.   
“Are you okay with that?”  
Cynthia places a warm hand on Connor shoulder. He nods, not sure what else to do. The nod is an accident, but, honestly, anything to stop Cynthia asking about the numbers.   
When will he tell her?  
When will he tell everyone?  
Not today. That’s for sure. 

“Mom asked me to put away your clothes because you were taking a nap last night.” Zoe breaks the silence at a red light.  
Connor makes a noise in the back on his throat. “How d’you know I wasn’t dead?”  
“Because you’re sitting here right now,”  
Neither of them say a thing for a few seconds.   
Then Zoe does, “it wasn’t much. Just, like, a couple pairs of jeans and some socks.”  
Zoe’s voice breaks at the word _socks_.   
Connor doesn’t understand why.   
Then it clicks. His stomach drops.   
“I, uh, I found a little bag in the corner under a couple pairs. Thought it was weed at first, if I’m being honest. I was wrong,” she gulps, “they were pills. Thirty or so,”  
Connor focuses on a multicoloured mailbox.   
Zoe ends with one word.  
“Why?”  
He sighs.   
The car begins driving again.   
There’s nothing outside it to focus on for more than five seconds. He has no choice but to look at the dashboard.   
“Life is hell,” is the only thing out of Connor’s mouth.   
“You were going to-“  
“Yes, I was going to kill myself. You happy? Finally got it out of me?”  
When he turns to Zoe, her face is bright red and her knuckles are white as she holds the steering wheel tighter than Connor ever has. It’s a strange sight. She looks like she’s going to-  
Zoe lets out a small squeak before pulling over into the side of the road and leaning against the steering wheel. Connor doesn’t know what to do.   
“When?” She asks, breathless.   
An interrogation. Nice.   
“Monday,”  
“First day back.” She shakes her head. “That’s why you wanted to stay home?” She lifts her head this time. “Why didn’t you do it?”  
“I am not telling you that. I will answer any question about anything else, just not that,”  
“Oh, don’t pretend I don’t know.” She pauses. “You met Evan that day! The only reason you’re alive right now is because of Evan!”  
“Why did you fucking ask, then?”  
“Because I wanted to see if you’d admit it!”  
“How do you feel now, then! Huh?”  
Zoe shrinks and leans on the steering wheel again. “Horrible,”  
“Ah, man, I wonder what that’s like.” Connor crosses his arms and focuses on a tire swing hung from a tree this time.   
Zoe sits back up and glares daggers and everything her eyes meet. “I’m trying to process this, alright? My brother just said he was planning to kill himself on Monday! My own brother! With, what I’m assuming to be, the pills that prevent you from doing just that!” Her voice is that of pure anger, “the least you could do is stop being such a sarcastic prick! How would you feel if I told you the same thing? _Hey, Connor, I was planning on overdosing on Monday but finding my soulmate stopped me,_ ”  
Connor is about to retaliate before the last sentence sets in, when he just pauses and stares at her.   
_Soulmate_.   
“How do you-“  
“Your sleeves were rolled up when you were asleep,” Zoe explains, voice hoarse. “I did the math.” She pauses. “I won’t tell mom and dad any of this, by the way,”  
Connor is quiet. “Thanks.”  
Not another word is spoken as Zoe begins driving again and all through the school day. 

The drive back home is tense.   
After the morning, neither want to speak to each other, yet Zoe is obviously restless with question after question after question. It’s annoying, watching her, out the corner of his eye, regrip the wheel every two seconds and blink more than what’s necessary.   
When she turns onto their street, Connor begins bouncing his leg. His stomach is in knots and his palms are sweaty. This must be what it’s like for Evan all the time. It really doesn’t feel good.   
“By the way,” Connor mutters, “I’m gay,”  
“Kinda caught up on that.” Zoe’s voice is flat.   
“Don’t tell anyone. I’ll tell them myself.”   
That’s the end of that conversation.   
It’s shorter than Connor would have liked.  
At least everything he wanted out came out. No pun intended.   
The chip of red paint is already fixed. That’s what happens when you have a mother that has no job and too much free time on her hands; you get countless movie recommendations and a completely spotless house.   
Some of the movies are actually kind of alright.   
Connor immediately goes upstairs, locking himself in his bedroom and staring at the floor.   
It’s taken a while to sink in.   
Connor’s pretty sure it hasn’t completely sunk in.   
Zoe knew.   
She knew about him and Evan.   
She found out and confronted him about it not even 24 hours later.   
She was there at dinner.   
She probably suspected already and only looked because of that.   
Oh god what will he tell Evan.   
‘Hey my sister found out that we’re soulmates because she looked at my numbers and I didn’t say anything to prove her wrong. Happy Saturday!’  
Fuck. He won’t be able to say anything until Monday. There must be a way to tell Evan.   
“Zoe!” He screams out into the hall.   
Zoe opens the bathroom door and stares at him.   
“Do you have Evans number?”  
She raises an eyebrow, “you don’t have it?”  
“Never asked for it. So I’m taking that as a ‘no,’”  
“Alana Beck probably has it. I’ve seen those two talk a few times,”  
“How do I-“  
“Check your email. She’s there, trust me.”  
Connor nods a grand total of one time, retreats back into his room, and opens his laptop. It’s not in the same place it was this morning. Cynthia definitely tried to get into it.   
It’s not like there’s anything illegal.   
Just a couple Sims games and a few Google Documents.   
He doesn’t use his laptop very much. Can you tell?  
His school email is opened and, just as Zoe said, it’s clogged with emails from Alana Beck. They’re not useless, per sé, they’re just…  
 _Happy first day back!_  
 _Good morning everyone! Have a good day!_  
 _Who else is excited for graduation this year!?_  
They’re short and sweet and too optimistic. It’s refreshing, in a strange sort of way, from all the negativity surrounding him like a black cloud at all times. At least he knows he can read something when the cloud gets too much.   
He begins typing an email.   
_hey!_  
That sounds like they’re friends.   
He backspaces and freezes, the flashing black line taunting him with every reappearance.   
Fuck it.   
Type the first things that come to mind.   
_hey! im connor murphy. just wondering if you have evan hansens phone number by any chance? thanks_  
Without thinking, he clicks send. Moving the laptop to the side and laying down, the glow in the dark stars are the only form of immediate entertainment he can find.   
Counting them is fun.   
There’s 25. He knows it. Ask him at any moment, “how many stars are on your ceiling?” and, without hesitation, he would say “25,”  
It’s been sort of comforting to count them, though.   
He memorised them when he was ten. Back when things weren’t so shitty and he didn’t want to kill himself every day. Back when Cynthia wasn’t bugging him about the goddamn numbers all the time. Back when he was still ‘God’s sweet little ladies man’ because, apparently, that’s what people view ten year olds as.   
A little popup on his laptop catches his attention. It’s tiny and red and in the top right corner. An email.   
It’s from Alana.   
_Of course! xxx-xxx-xxxx._  
He types a quick ‘thank you’ while entering the digits into his phone. He pauses, not daring to type.   
What if it isn’t Evans number?  
No, Alana’s too nice to do that.   
Again, fuck it.   
_hey. it’s connor. just thought i should have ur number too_.   
Another email appears. It’s just Alana saying ‘you’re welcome,’ or something along those lines. He’ll read it later.   
A ‘seen’ doesn’t show up for five minutes.   
Connor doesn’t think much of it.   
Evan might not be home yet, or he’s busy, or doing something better than talk to Connor. It’s reasonable.   
Who would want to talk to the crazy kid who screams at people every two days?  
Connor definitely wouldn’t.   
Well, that’s a lie. He’s not sure what he would do. Would he just stand back and ignore the kid? Would he be one of the bitches who makes fun of him? Would he try to act casual around him but secretly panic? It’s truly a mystery, a mystery that Connor, frankly, would rather not find out the answer to.   
After seven minutes, the ‘seen’ indication still doesn’t show up. He gives up. He’s hungry. For pizza. Normal pizza. None of Cynthia’s gluten-free, vegan, 100% natural shit.   
So he texts Evan again.   
_coming over to ur house. be ready_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dunno 


	7. Chapter Seven

Evans house isn’t the most modern build ever.   
It isn’t giant, extravagant, with three storeys and giant windows that reach all the way to the ceiling. It’s not what Connor is usually around.   
On the contrary, it’s small. It’s quiet. It doesn’t scream ‘bam look at me and all the money I have,’ instead it says ‘I’m not just somewhere someone lives, I’m someone’s home, where they grew up and have all their best memories.’  
The thing that ties it all together is probably the little flower pots on the window sills.   
He can just imagine Evan putting them out one day when he was bored.   
Movement comes from, what Connor can only assume is, the living room only seconds before the front door is pulled open and a surprised looking Evan is revealed. Both step out of their respected shelters and begin walking towards the other, Evan’s mouth opening and closing in bewilderment every few seconds.   
“What- what’re you doing here?” Evan asks, meeting Connor in the middle of the yard.   
Connor shrugs. “Dunno. Got bored, I guess?”  
“Already? It’s only, like, two?”  
Connor gestures toward his car, raising an eyebrow, “I can leave if y-“  
“No! No, it’s fine, you can stay! I’m just- it’s just- I dunno, it’s early? In the day?”  
Connor stands there, still for a second or two, suppressing laughter and failing. It’s short, not too much to make Evan feel bad, but not too little to be awkward. He shakes his head.   
Evan seems to come back to reality.   
“Do you, um, do you want to come inside? And, uh, do… stuff?”  
Connor shrugs, nodding casually. The other turns around slowly and leads him into the house, which is scented slightly of vanilla. Small accents of slightly whitish yellow picture frames and candle holders alike are scattered through the first room, a colour that, somehow, looks like the scent of vanilla. Pops of a greeny-blue accompany the whitish yellow in every third or fourth picture frame and only one candle holder.   
It looks like how Evan would look if he were turned into house decorations.   
If that makes any sense.   
Evan leaves for the kitchen, telling Connor to just wait on the way. And so, he takes it upon himself, to snoop.   
Well, not really. He’s not going through drawers or anything.   
Just looking at the pictures hanging up on the wall.  
All of them are of Evan when he was younger- going down a slide, swimming in a large pool, staring off into space with spaghetti sauce all over his face. There’s one with two other people, though, along with an Evan that looks around two years old.   
The two people are a young blonde woman and a brunette man that looks too much like Evan. Connor can’t help but assume those are his parents.   
Evan comes back into the room, carrying two glasses of water.   
“Ah, sorry, you didn’t even say you wanted any water,” Evan says. He gives the water to Connor anyway. He then looks at the photos, blushing a deep red and gulping down too much water than what’s necessary.   
Connor points at the ‘family photo.’  
“That’s cute,”  
“Oh, yeah, I guess,”  
Evan’s eyes linger on the photo longer than necessary in a way that concerns Connor.   
“What’s wrong?”  
“Hm?” Evan looks up at Connor, “oh, um, nothing. Really,”  
Connor raises an eyebrow, seeing directly through Evans lie. “It’s something,”  
“No, really, it’s- it’s nothing,” Evan looks back down at his feet, “I promise,”  
Connor shrugs.   
He seems to do an awful lot of that.   
He’ll need to work on that.   
“Okay, I still don’t believe you, but okay.” He makes his way into, what he assumes is, the living room. And, by golly, he’s correct. The same colours are used around the room, save for a light coral side lamp, giving the room a slight pinkish glow to it. “This is nice,”  
“Not as nice as yours,” Evan mumbles, following the other. He places a hand over his mouth when he realizes he said it aloud.   
Connor gasps, acting overly offended, placing a hand upon his chest in a dramatic way, “Are you saying- I can’t believe this- that my family is rich!?” He gasps once again, pretending to (almost) faint, “I’ve never heard such a thing!”  
Evan blushes a deep crimson as he laughs quietly.  
Connor joins in, though not as much as Evan. He takes a step farther, looking around the room.  
The wall the couch sits against us some god-awful beige floral wallpaper pattern.   
Connor manages not to gag at the sight of it.   
The room is pretty bare, except for a few dirty dishes here and there and a deck of cards neatly piled on the table along with a large book.   
“I really hope none of the other rooms have _that_ ,” pointing at the _the wall_ , Connor turns back to Evan, who shakes his head quickly with eyes wide as the moon. “Good. Well, uh, prove that by showing me around?”  
“Yes! Sure! Sure, uh, that’s alright,”   
The rest of the house has the same coloured accents as the first room. It amazes Connor how Evan’s parents managed to find the incredibly specific colours. They stray away from the parents’ room, for purposes of invasion of privacy on Evan’s part. Honestly, Connor doesn’t know whether he cares or not.   
“So…” Connor welcomes himself into Evan’s room, sits on the bed, and lounges comfortably, “this is where the magic happens, hey?”  
Evan turns beetroot red and laughs awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck. “Y-yeah, I guess?”  
Connor sits up, gawking. “You’ve never-”  
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Evan says slowly, pronouncing every word with care.   
“Not even-”  
“I said-”  
“What about Kl-”  
“I said I don’t wanna talk about it!”  
Connor raises his arms in surrender, “fine,” and looks around the room. Absolutely nothing is matching except for a pair of socks on the floor in the corner. It’s nice. A little pop from the matching _nothing_ everywhere else. It’s quite a small room, Connor realizes, just everything is placed so well it looks bigger than it is.   
“Okay.” He looks back up at the other, who is chewing his nails. “I really like it, actually, but, I’m bored,”  
“What do you wanna do, then?”   
“Orchard?”  
Evan very obviously tries to hide the pure joy that enters his eyes as he nods slowly. “Sure.”

This time, Connor takes the flashlight from the shed.   
It flickers and occasionally goes completely out, but it’s better than nothing in the café.   
Surprisingly, it was Evan’s idea to take a look around. Inspect the place. Connor turns tables and chairs back up, his sleeves up over his hands, while Evan carefully follows with the flashlight, avoiding any broken glass or a loose floorboard.   
The flashlight really doesn’t do anything, actually.   
Connor instructs the other to turn it off, the sun is good enough, we should save the battery for if we actually do need it. Evan looks from the flashlight to one of the windows and nods once, turning it off in one swift movement.   
“Do you think we’ll find anything?”  
Evan looks up from the floor, “like what?”  
“Cocaine, human remains, maybe a litter of kittens in the corner,”  
Connor looks up as he upturns another chair, smiling smally at Evan.   
“I really hope not.” Evan pauses. “Except for the kittens. I like kittens,”  
“I’d leave you right now if you didn’t,”  
Evan takes in a breath before shrinking back, bowing his head and staring at the floor. Of course, Connor doesn’t realise this as he moves onto the next table and chair, at first at least. He stands up straight and brushes off his hands, grinning proudly at the progress he’s made. The sight of Evan surprises him, to say the least.   
“Shit, what- oh, no, what happened?” Connor places one hand on each of Evan’s shoulders, “what did I do?”  
Evan shakes his head, looks up, and smiles. “Nothing. It’s fine. Just- thought I saw a spider,”  
Connor backs away, looking at Evan sceptically and shrugs.   
No.   
Not shrugs.   
_Dismisses it_.   
He looks at his work then back at Evan.   
“I think this is good for today, what about you?”  
Evan nods.  
“Alright.”  
And so they leave the small café, leaving the flashlight behind for another day, because Connor knows they’ll come back.   
The field is a little more yellow than last time, the trees with considerably less leaves and apples mushier as they’ve been picked apart by birds, to the point the birds even gag to look at them. The view doesn’t bother either Connor nor Evan, it’s stepping on one and getting it all over his shoe that’s the concern. They’re impossible to get off, said from experience.   
The sun, however, makes the field somewhat bearable. The warm rays beating down to join the cold breeze, however cliché it sounds, it’s the perfect weather for this time of year.   
Evan slowly stops, slowing down his steps every couple, and looking around at the tall trees.   
Connor doesn’t realize until he’s a few feet away.   
Evan doesn’t seem to be doing anything. He’s not squinting, not making a move to start walking again, not talking, just staring at the trees in admiration.   
And so Connor does the same thing.   
But, in the opposite direction, which leads his eyes to an exceptionally tall tree in the distance. Its leaves are slightly greener than the rest and there’s still a few apples hanging on for dear life on the branches, just begging to be knocked down by two teenage boys climbing their owner.   
And so Connor gets an idea.   
Without warning, he begins running full speed in the general direction of the tree, swinging around the trunks of trees in the way, calling for Evan to follow him.   
Their feet pounding on the ground are the only things that can be heard, aside from the wind blowing dry leaves or their heavy breathing.   
The base of the tree comes into Connors view, urging him to run faster so he can just climb and look at the orchard from above.   
He turns around, panting, to see Evan beginning to slow his run down to a jog, then eventually a walk, then standing still, hunched over with his hands on his knees, trying to even out his breathing.   
Connor laughs, to which Evan looks up and grins in response.   
And then Connor remembers Evan’s broken arm.   
“Shit, I didn’t think about that,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, “Are you able to climb this thing?”  
Evan stands up straight and shrugs. “I dunno, have to find out, I guess,”  
“Ambitious, now, I see,”  
The only thing the blonde does in return is smile, a hint of smugness among his demeanour. Connor lets out one last breath before reaching up and holding the first branch, his arms uncomfortable under the stress.   
But he does it and stands on the first branch, watching as Evan struggles to catch a good grip. It’s a funny sight, really. And, suddenly, out of the blue, Connor realizes there’s no secure place for Evan to grab onto without the branch breaking and Connor going down with it.   
So he makes a joke of it.   
Saying something about Evan being slow, Connor climbs a few feet, the trunk gradually getting thinner to the point he can put his arms around it. No, this tree is too tall for the trunk to be this small so quick.   
He comes to the conclusion that they must be twenty-some feet in the air and watches Evan follow, struggling immensely with his broken arm, glancing back at the ground every few seconds. He looks up at Connor, face flushed a deep red.   
“You wanna stop here?” Connor asks.   
Evan nods.   
Another large pull and they’re sitting on the branch together, Evan closer to the trunk, gripping it for dear life.   
“You won’t fall, you know,” Connor mutters, “and if you do, I’ll at least _try_ to catch you,”  
Evan turns to him with wide eyes. “Yeah- okay, thanks,” he looks around at the field. “Did you know the tallest tree ever discovered was 379.7 feet tall and called the Hyperion?”  
“I did not know that,”  
“It’s just a common fact, really. The most popular, I guess you could say,” Evan looks up at the sky.   
Connor follows his gaze to a large cloud. It has a slight grey shade to it despite how close it is to the sun. “That one looks like a doughnut,”  
“It does…” Evan looks at a different cloud, “rabbit,”  
“All clouds look like a rabbit in one way or another,”   
“Oh, I guess, yeah.” Evan points to the same one. “Polar bear,”  
Connor smiles, watching Evan stare around the field and sky alike. The look of pure wonder on Evan’s face is the thing that keeps Connor staring. The way he admires the treetops and clouds, pointing out what they look like. The way he squints at a flock of birds flying south. The way he swings his legs along with the light breeze.   
The way a raindrop falls on his cheek.   
Connor turns around and looks up at the sky behind them, greeted by a huge mass of dark grey clouds. Evan does the same, shoulders sinking in disappointment.   
“Shit, we should go then. You first,”   
Evan sits still for a second or two then begins dropping his legs to the nearest branch below, quickly followed by Connor, both making their way down quickly so to avoid the rain.   
And, in what feels like a matter of minutes, Evan is dropped back off at his own house and Connor is in his bedroom, staring at the dark wood of his desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i honestly have no clue what happened in this chapter  
> pls comment i like comments


	8. Chapter Eight

Connor and Zoe can’t stand to be in the same room as each other for more than five minutes.   
Or, rather, Zoe can’t stand to be in the same room as Connor for more than five minutes.  
It’s really not ideal, considering it’s Saturday and absolutely pouring outside, with Cynthia home so they can’t hide away in their bedrooms.   
Zoe obviously thinks Connor doesn’t know why she’s avoiding him. Glaring at him. Visibly feeling bad for him. He knows exactly why, though. It’s not a secret that she’s uncomfortable with the whole suicide thing and gay thing and Evan thing.   
Well, uncomfortable isn’t quite the correct word for how he suspects she’s feeling.   
_Not used to_ is better.   
It hurts in a strange way.   
She said she was alright with the gay thing, and along with that probably came the soulmate thing. Those probably aren’t what are bugging her. The suicide thing is probably it. The suicide thing is definitely it.   
Connor stares out the kitchen window, standing completely still, watching as raindrops fall down the glass, chasing each other in races to the bottom frame. He won’t admit it, but he still roots for one drop or the other when it rains. Shit, he just admitted it right then. He won’t admit it to _anyone else_.   
The fridge door slams shut.   
He turns around, greeted by the view of Zoe staring at him with a sort of angry-but-also-sorry look on her face. She clears her throat and tosses an apple to her brother then leaves in a hurry, not saying a word, though obviously wanting to. He almost stops her to talk.   
Almost.   
His gut tells him not to. Then again, his gut also tells him a lot of things, most of them with negative outcomes. If not negative, neither positive. It’s stopped bothering him, really. He can always go back to the pills if things somehow get worse. The apple is too cold and hard to eat without hurting his teeth, but he eats it anyway. No clue why, really. It’s not like Zoe would care.   
Cynthia is sitting at the dining room table, some book written by some middle aged white woman open in front of her, while Zoe sits at the head with an orange and her laptop.   
Connor takes another bite.   
Cynthia’s head shoots up to grin at him.   
“Hi, sweetie,” Cynthia says, voice too sweet and excited to be directed toward her son.   
Zoe looks up at him as well.   
Then she leaves.   
Both Connor and Cynthia watch her, Cynthia frowning sadly and Connor glaring. Cynthia turns back to her son.   
“Anything interesting happening today?” She pauses for a reaction. Nothing. “You going to… hang out with Evan?”  
The desperate attempt at ‘young people language’ makes Connor cringe. “Dunno,”  
“Oh, well, why don’t you text him? See if he’s free?”  
“He won’t want to leave his house in this weather. Trust me,”  
Cynthia lets out a small, “Oh,” and turns back to her book hesitantly. Connor takes it as a queue to leave.   
He really appreciates her attempts at connecting with him, he really does. Her delivery, though, is just simply horrible. She sounds like she’s in pain as she does it. The words she chooses in order to sound _hip_ and _cool_ just sound unnatural to her usually preppy and polite manner.   
Zoe is on the couch, an orange slice half hanging out of her mouth lazily as she types something with both hands. She catches Connor standing there in the reflection of the screen, closing the laptop quickly.   
“Be quieter, why don’t you.” She stands and makes way to leave the living room. “I can’t go anywhere to be alone, can’t I?”  
“Now, Zoe, what’s that about?” Cynthia mutters, eyes not raising from her book.   
Zoe groans, turning on her heels to their mother. “Nothing…”  
“He’s your brother,” Cynthia says, looking up at them, “I don’t care where you stand with each other, you two can stay in the same room together for more than one minute,”  
Connor raises an eyebrow in confusion. Does she know who she’s talking to?   
Zoe rolls her eyes and turns back to the stairs.   
“Don’t roll your eyes at me.” Cynthia stands. Zoe’s reaction is complete fear and confusion. Connor’s used to it. It doesn’t faze him any more. “You’re not allowed to go to your room, got it?”  
Zoe stiffens and nods. Connor does the same.   
“Why don’t you two go somewhere?” Cynthia suggests, the same sweet, overly optimistic tone is back in her voice, replacing the completely serious, slightly scary, one from just a few seconds ago. “Together. Doesn’t have to be outside, heck, it doesn’t even have to be the same place. Just, go somewhere,”  
Connor shrugs and moves for the front door, where his boots are laying, without a fight. He truly doesn’t have the energy today.   
The sight of Zoe wanting to protest and stay home is funny, though sad.   
She’d truly stay home with their mom of all people rather than go out with her brother, completely free to go to completely different places. It strikes a certain place of guilt in Connor’s heart, the fact that he did that all by himself. Along with that guilt, though, is a small sense of undeserving pride, knowing that he did that all by himself. He shouldn’t be proud, ruining a once (seemingly) unbreakable bond with his sibling isn’t something he should find himself proud of.   
Yet he is. 

Zoe drags him into a small second-hand store run by one of her friends Nanas, filled to the ceiling with random knick-knacks. Wooden cats, a broken record player, a pair of dice. Along one wall is a giant bookshelf, filled with books to the brim, to the point they have to lay some on their side across multiple others.   
There are classics like The Hobbit or Catcher in the Rye, but also unnamed (probably self published) on one shelf alone. It fills Connor with warmth, looking at all the books.   
So as Zoe wanders off with her friends Nana, Connor pulls books at random and reads the synopsis’ of each one, balancing a couple in his arms in order to buy a them.   
Some seem interesting, that they could seriously grab a reader’s attention and keep it, other’s seem like books to just grab off the shelf of your old middle school so the teacher with stop bugging you to ‘just pick one Connor. They’re all good.’  
No, Mrs Edmonds, they’re not all good. Most of them are complete shit, actually. Boring with boring characters and boring plots and boring wording and ew.   
Zoe arrives back at his side, staring at the five books he’s chosen.   
“You’re… buying those?” She shifts focus between her brother and the books. “Since when do you read?”  
“I read quite a lot, I’ll have you know,”  
She purses her lips. “Fine,”  
He looks around the shop. “You getting anything or what?”  
“I think so.” Zoe looks to a little table of clutter in the middle, drifting towards it casually. Picking up things at random, she laughs at a couple, makes disgusted faces at a couple, picking up a small carving of a dog. “Wanna get something for Evan?”  
“There is no way in hell I'm getting something for him,”  
Zoe squints at the dog, smiling before putting it back down with an “okay.” Connor can see right through her.   
“Now, now,” Zoe’s friend’s Nana makes her way to the siblings, “watch your language in my store,”  
“What, me?” Connor asks. She nods. “Oh,”  
“What he means to say, Giulia, is that he’s sorry, _right Connor_?”  
Connor nods. “Sorry,”  
“Thank you,” Giulia nods. “And who is this ‘Evan’ I hear Zoe speak of?”  
Zoe snickers.   
“My friend,” Connor mutters, picking at his nail polish blindly.   
“Oh, and why don’t you want to get him this nice doggy?”  
Connor hesitates. _Because I’m scared he’ll find it weird or clingy_ , _because I’m not sure he likes dogs_ , _because we're not at that point in our relationship yet_.  
“Yeah, Connor, why don’t you?” Zoe waves the wooden dog around tauntingly, smirking to herself.   
“I don’t know,”  
“So get it for him!” Giulia exclaims.   
Connor’s sure she means well. That doesn’t mean the phrase sits well.   
“That, I am not doing,”  
“Why not?”  
“Because I’m not!”  
“Connor, there must be-“  
“No there’s not alright!?”  
Zoe frowns, slamming the wooden dog on the table with more force that necessary. Both Giulia and Connor jump at the sound it makes. “Why not? It just a little nice gesture, or do you not ‘do’ nice?”  
“I’m just not getting him a stupid fucking wooden dog.”   
Zoe opens her mouth to retaliate, Connor going on and not letting a word escape from his sister, “Why the fuck did I even come here in the first place? I could be at home doing _something_ , but of course mom forces me here-“  
“Mom didn’t force you-“  
“Shut the fuck up! Just shut it!” Connor lets the books fall to the floor, “for once in your life, don’t butt in when I have a fucking _freak attack_ and let me live my own shitty life!”  
Giulia looks like she’s about to faint. Zoe’s face is bright red with anger.   
It’s satisfying.   
“Fuck…” Connor lets out a small breath, sounding slightly like a laugh.   
“I-I’m sorry, Giulia, he can get a little-“  
“Freakish. Psychopathic. Crazy. Go on, I know you wanna say it. I don’t care, honestly, whatever. Go tell everyone, for all I care. Say it over the loudspeaker for everyone to hear.” Connor strides out the store and into the large corridor, cupping his mouth and calling, “Hey everyone! I’m a fucking psychopath that deserves nothing but death! Me! Connor Murphy! The crazy freak that wants to die twenty-four-seven!”  
“Connor, get back here right now,” Zoe growls, stomping her foot. “This isn’t funny,”  
“Really? Because I think it’s fucking hilarious. Look at everyone laughing at me! Laugh at me, throw rotten food, who cares at this point! I could be dead tomorrow, as far as I’m concerned,”  
That’s when he knows he went too far.   
Zoe races out of the store and grabs Connor by the ear, nothing but anger radiating off of her. He groans, protesting slightly as she pulls him back into the store, where Giulia has disappeared back into the back room, probably to have a heart attack from all this swearing.   
“Pick up those books.” Zoe lets go of his ear and points at the books he left on the floor.   
That’s the only thing that bugs him.   
One of them ripped, for God’s sake. It’s one of the ones that sounded genuinely interesting.   
Zoe watches him pick the books up, tapping her foot with her arms crossed. He makes a grand gesture of placing them all back on the shelf and standing in front of Zoe, mimicking her position. She rolls her eyes and snaps her tongue, turning around and picking up a wooden plank with a few little objects on it.   
“I swear, if you do anything, _anything_ , to get yourself in probably even more trouble,”  
Connor is left confused. “What’ll you do?”  
The colour drains from Zoe’s face, instantly replaced with red hot annoyance. “I’ll tell mom and dad,”  
“Oh, no, I’m so scared. What ever will I do?” He makes the same exaggerated almost-fainting gesture as he did with Evan yesterday before rolling his eyes and turning around to face the front of the shop.   
People are looking in, staring, whispering to their friends and family alike. _Is that kid okay_? _What happened to him_? _God, his parents need to do something_.  
He glares at one certain middle aged mother with two kids. She has the classic ‘let me speak to the manager’ haircut. It’s an easy target. Women like those are the most fun to play with.   
“Hey,” he strides over, hands in pockets, coolly. The woman pushes her children away from him, “Oh, no, I don’t bite,”  
The woman’s face hardens.   
“However, something I _do_ do, is take it straight up the ass, like a real man, you know?”  
The woman gasps, offended, and walks away, staring over her shoulder at him while simultaneously forcing her children to stop looking at him, probably in fear that they’ll catch the disease of the, gasp, _homosexual_. He smirks, watching them the entire way down the hall, until they turn the corner and are out of sight, when he turns to the next easiest target. An old couple.   
“Wanna hear what else I do? Because I’d be more than happy to share,”  
The couple leaves, sticking their noses in the air.   
Connor has to restrain himself from bursting out laughing.   
“What are you doing?” Zoe calls from the till, a hint of leftover anger left in her voice.   
“Nothing,”  
And that’s the end of that chapter.   
There’s no big revelation or lesson to be learnt.   
There’s no existential dread or pure suicidal thoughts.   
There’s none of that jazz.   
Simply a semi-civil exchange between two siblings, wishing that they could just get along for more than five minutes. That they can stand each other in the same room. That they can be in the living room with each other without imagining what’s it be like to pull the other’s hair out in a wrestling match.   
Their thoughts are sometimes borderline crazy.   
It fits, Connor’s used to it.   
It fits, Zoe’s thought about it.   
At first glance at the Murphy’s, they seem like the perfect family. Second glance, you see a struggling mother, a distant father, a hurting son, and a hurt daughter. At third glance, their differences are what make them similar, in a way.   
Connor just wishes there weren’t those differences in the way of their similarities.   
Zoe secretly wishes it as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to First Burn whilst playing Grand Theft Auto for 48 minutes today


	9. Chapter Nine

Kleinman, Alana, and Evan are standing together outside of Evan’s locker.   
Alana is showing Kleinman something in a bright red binder, pointing at certain places and flipping the page occasionally, while Evan stands awkwardly, sort of off to the side and staring at the binder.   
As Connor approaches, he can hear the words Alana is speaking.   
“And then- I was thinking there could be a photo booth here, but my sister says that’d be too close to the snack table, but where else could I put it, you know?”  
“Dunno,”  
“What about you, Evan?” Alana looks up at Evan, her eyes shifting to Connor making his way to the trio. She grins, waving enthusiastically and closing the binder, receiving a half-smile and simple raise of the hand in return.   
He stops next to Evan, giving enough space between them to be comfortable but not awkward, Kleinman’s face turning red in attempt to make a joke. It’s obvious.   
“I was just telling them my plans for the Hallowe’en en dance. Never too early to start planning, hey?” Alana’s strained attempt at a joke just comes off as sad. Connor feels slightly bad for her. Only slightly.   
The four fall silent again, the only sound from Kleinman’s small chuckles here and there. Connor can sense Evan tensing up from beside him, the awkward silence too much or some shit. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that Evan is uncomfortable, and, from what he’s gathered so far, when Evan is uncomfortable, everyone is uncomfortable.   
“So, uh, that’s cool. When is it?”  
“I don’t know,” Alana opens the binder and shrugs, “I was thinking sometime late October , early November maybe,”  
“Shit, that’s still _months_ away,”  
“Sharon asked me to start a basic outline. She let me pick either Hallowe’en and Christmas, and you know how much I like Christmas.” Alana looks around. No one laughs except for a somewhat genuine smile from Evan. No surprise there. “Well- anyway, I was thinking maybe you guys could help me? I can’t imagine you have many after school activities,”  
Connor raises an eyebrow. The statement is definitely supposed to mean well, the delivery was just sort of off. He and Evan exchange a glance, Evan shrugging a ‘sure?’ and Connor sighing, but doing the same.   
“Sure, we’ll help,”  
Alana beams in delight.   
“What? You’re- wait- what?” Kleinman is rendered speechless.   
“We’ll help. Sounds fun,” Evan says to no one in particular. Connor nods in agreement.   
Alana grins at them, “Great! Oh, this is amazing! Thank you!” She closes the binder, hugging both Connor and Evan close.  
Evan doesn’t like physical contact.   
Connor hates hugs.   
Neither are left comfortable.   
“Okay, uh, can we meet at lunch? Will that work for you two?” Both nod. Alana does the same. She begins to walk away, stopping abruptly and saying to the pair of them, “I eat in the library, by the way. At the back. I’ll be there. Have a good day!”  
The three remaining all stand, watching her walk away, trying to ignore the whispers from other students.   
“People are allowed to eat in the library?” Connor asks into thin air.   
“Considering that’s Alana and I’ve never seen here break _any_ rule,” Kleinman replies, “I’d say so.” Alana turns the corner, Kleinman taking it as a queue to begin talking again, just as obnoxious and annoying as before, “so, what kinda shenanigans did you two get up to this weekend?”  
Connor rolls his eyes while Evan blushes.   
“I’m not accusing you of fucking, but with those reactions, I’m seriously thinking you guys did. How was it?”  
“Oh, it was just great,” Connor says, voice dripping with sarcasm, “wasn’t it, Evan?”  
Evan covers his mouth, like that’s doing anything for his completely red face, and grabs Connor’s arm, Connor laughing lightly. Evan slowly begins laughing as well.   
“We actually didn’t see each other all weekend, so, to answer your original question,” Connor carries on, “we did not get up to any _shenanigans_ , thank you very much,”  
Kleinman ‘tuts,’ “you guys are boring,” and walks away, the opposite direction as Alana.   
As soon as he turns the corner, Evan removes his hand from his mouth and playfully glares at his soulmate, as if to say ‘why would you do that?’   
Connor shrugs.   
“Dunno. A bit of fun,”  
Evan sighs.   
And shakes his head.   
And doesn’t let go of Connor’s arm.   
The bell rings.   
They make eye contact for a few seconds before walking to their respective homeroom classes in opposite directions.   
He’s happy Evan is beginning to become more comfortable with him.   
Considering his own track record, though, he would think Evan would still be afraid that he would kill him.   
Seriously, though, like he said before, murder is absolutely insane. Connor can’t even _imagine_ taking another person's life, let alone his soulmate’s. However, he can imagine taking his own.   
It’s not a new thought. He’s thought about it many times since he was, what, thirteen? Fourteen? All the different ways to go about it, where he would go, because, if anything, he would _not_ he found in his house. That place is like an asylum, in some aspects. It’s just… torturing. Horrible.   
He doesn’t know how people like it when they come over.   
A hush falls over the room as Connor enters.   
He doesn’t notice until he takes an empty seat at the back, where half the class is staring at him, not even trying to be discreet about it.   
“The fuck are you looking at?”  
A couple people turn back around.   
One boy, though, doesn’t.   
A soccer player. Best on the school’s boys team. He has this cocky smirk on his face and a bitchy girlfriend at his side. Connor’s heard about people like them in books and movies and shit, he just never thought he’d see them in person. _In real life_.   
He’s only a few rows in front of Connor.   
“My family warned me about people like you.” He snarls and turns to the front of the class.   
The fuck is that supposed to mean?

Alana is already sitting at one of the tables.  
She’s eating some kind of sandwich and writing something in one of her three binders.  
Connor has no clue how she has time to do all this work all the time. He barely has time to do one page of math.  
She takes a bite and flips the page, looking up in the process and spots Evan and Connor, waving the pair over happily to sit down. They do as such, each taking one of the empty seven remaining seats respectively, Evan the one beside Alana and Connor across.  
“What’re you doing?” Connor leans over the table and looks at the binder, surprisingly completely clean of any crumbs. A page of notes of middle school math is open next to Alana’s own math notes.   
“My sister asked me to look at her page before she turns it in.” Alana closes the binder and opens another one, turning to a blank piece of grid paper.   
Evan squints at it, as if he’s never seen grid paper before.   
“What’s wrong?” Connor looks up at Evan, raising an eyebrow.   
Evan shrugs. “I dunno. Just… dunno,”  
Connor nods slowly. Alana takes three pencils from her backpack, which is laying open on the floor. It looks just _slightly_ too small to carry all Alana’s shit, which sort of concerns Connor. Does she really carry half of it from class to class?  
She gives one pencil to Connor, one to Evan, and keeps one for herself. She doesn’t notice, but Evan is staring inside the bag, which causes Connor to, and leads his eyes to a couple books sitting there, all alone and exposed.   
“What are you…” Alana follows their gaze to her books. She grins. “Oh! Do you guys like to read?”  
Connor… _shrugs_ while Evan nods enthusiastically. She looks at the pair of them, “well, let’s just talk about them, then! The dance can wait, you know?”  
She excitedly takes the three books in her hands, setting them on the table heavily. Mrs Coswell, the librarian, glares at her for the noise, earning an almost silent ‘sorry,’ from both Alana and Evan.   
“So…” Alana spreads out her books for Evan to see.   
From there on, Connor doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, preferring to just watch and listen. He goes home that day with two new books to either buy or rent, or steal, if you were to ask year ago Connor.   
Year ago Connor isn’t much different from _now_ Connor, but there is quite a drastic difference. Like, year ago Connor didn’t think murder was crazy. Year ago Connor, for some reason, thought slitting his wrists in the bathtub and bleeding out was a better way to die than an overdose.   
There’s still a bloodstain on the carpet from year ago Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate this chapter so much


	10. Chapter Ten

Connor wakes up Tuesday morning feeling absolutely drained.   
His shoulders are heavy and his stomach is in knots and he constantly feels like crying or vomiting. He’s not sure which.   
Is this going to be a theme with Tuesday’s?  
He bunches the blanket in his hands, trying to muster up the energy to face the day. It just seems too much. Even turning his head takes too much out of him. Moving his fingers. Blinking. Fucking blinking takes too much energy.   
Jumping when Cynthia bursts into the room takes all the energy out of him.   
He slowly turns towards her, to watch as she pulls open the curtains to reveal, to no one's surprise, absolute pouring rain. His mother turns and faces him, grinning with her hands on her hips.   
“Wake up! We have a whole day ahead of us!”  
Connor. Just. _Groans_.   
He mumbles something so incoherent even he doesn’t know what he says. Cynthia just waved him off and pulls off the duvet.   
“Come on,”  
“I feel sick,”   
Cynthia presses her eyebrows together. Connor closes his eyes and has the cold hand of his mother on his forehead in half a second.   
“You don’t have a fever,”  
“Stomach,”  
“You need to eat something, then.” Connor can hear the unnecessary optimism in her voice. He opens one eye.   
Ow.   
“Fine,”  
Cynthia smiles, content. She leaves the room, Zoe taking her spot by leaning on the doorframe with her arms crossed. They make brief eye contact, a short conversation shared between the pair in less than five seconds.   
“I’m not gonna question you today,”  
“I’m gonna try not to lash out at you today,”  
“Gonna leave you alone at school and trust you,”  
“Gonna stay with my own group, you stay with yours,”  
Zoe nods and leaves, keeping her arms crossed the whole time. Connor lets out a deep sigh, counting the stars again.   
The only form of consistency in his life recently.   
The stars.  
All twenty five of them.   
Plates tapping each other and utensils being set down can faintly be heard from the dining room, along with Cynthia and Larry’s voices making tense conversation.   
Connor sighs and swallows the lump in his throat, only for it to come back immediately. His floor is cold. Too cold for a carpet. Right, the rain. Rain makes everything gloomier.   
And, apparently, Tuesday’s.   
He just wishes he could skip today and maybe go to the orchard or whatever. Fucking rain. At least it’s not snow. Actually, no, at least with snow you can wipe it off of your car or bench or something and you’re good, but with rain, it’s just always _there_.   
Ew.   
Fuck rain.   
“Come on, Connor!” Cynthia calls up the stairs. “Your oatmeal is gonna get cold!”  
So they weren’t plates. They were bowls.   
A slight murmur between Larry and Cynthia can be heard, followed by Zoe, in just a slightly louder voice, say “shut up,”  
They were talking about him. Definitely.   
He pads his way down the stairs and into the dining room, where both Larry and Zoe look up, to glare and deadpan at him respectively. As Cynthia pours him a glass of orange juice and Larry coffee, Connor takes his seat across from Zoe, staring at his bowl of oatmeal. He has the overwhelming urge to throw it across the room but simply… can’t.   
Like the bowl would be too heavy, or his arm would go limp halfway through and he’d just end up dropping it on his foot, or he’d break down sobbing the moment he touched the bowl.   
Depression, right?!  
How fucking fun.   
Zoe raises an eyebrow at him. “What’s going on with you?”  
“Hm?” That takes, for some reason or another, less energy than he expected. “Oh, nothing. Just tired, is all,”  
He lifts the spoon, piling a mouthful of oatmeal on it and stuffing it in his mouth, Zoe staring at him painfully the whole time. Not another word is spoken between any one of the Murphys as they get ready for the day, except Cynthia muttering a goodbye to each of them as they leave the house.   
Zoe drives.   
It’s too much like last Friday: Zoe driving with her hands too tight around the wheel, Connor wishing he was dead as he stares out the window, the smallest bit of joy coming when they stop so he can stare at something for more than five seconds. At least he can play the raindrop race game.   
It’s tense. More tense than usual between he siblings. Connor hates it.   
They _almost_ got better, along. And then Zoe had to go and put away those socks and find the pills and ask what they were there for.  
God, if he knew which socks she put away, he would burn them in an instant.   
The large school slowly comes into view, a large flagpole soggy from all the rain desperately trying to… _be a flag_ by blowing in the wind, but just sticks to the pole.   
Connor can’t help but think…  
 _Mood_  
The building itself looks exhausting, not to mention all the students and inevitable whispers because _Connor Murphy has been at school almost every day this year! Just give him a week, Katherine, then he’ll snap and kill himself. I’ll bet on it_.  
“Are you gonna come inside and see Evan and such or just, y'know, do this?” Zoe holds the handle of her door. If it weren’t pouring outside, Connor could imagine her almost forgetting him in the car and the question being completely last minute.  
“Dunno,”  
“Alright. Well, uh, I’ll just let you be. You can come in when you’re ready. I’m taking the keys.” She leaves without another word. He watches her, deadpan, walk inside and join her small group of friends who are waiting by the door for her.   
There’s Nicole, Pippy, and Katherine. They’re some of the snottiest, bitchiest, most stuck up nice people Connor has ever met. And that’s not just from outward appearance. Zoe’s known Nicole and Katherine since they were in kindergarten and Pippy since seventh grade, so Connor was kind of forced to have three extra sisters sixty percent of the time growing up.   
They began out nice; offering him cookies, playing games with him, inviting him places.   
Then Connor began snapping and was diagnosed with all his shit and they became the worst people he’s ever met by spreading rumours and telling other students about the stuff he did at home.   
Yet Zoe stayed with them, instead of her own fucking brother.  
Ah, fuck her. That was her choice. If she wanted to stay with her group of _friends_ , not her psychopath of a brother, whatever. It stopped hurting a couple years ago.   
The bell rings, telling everyone to get to their homeroom classes.   
Connor knows he should go. Even just for homeroom, maybe stop Evan in the hall and say he’s still alive and didn’t swallow those pills last night, then get back and hang out in the car the rest of the day.   
But he doesn’t.   
He doesn’t do any of those.   
He gets out of the car, not even bothering to put up his hood, and begins walking in the exact opposite direction of the school. He doesn’t even know what is this way, maybe a couple restaurants or a vintage arcade. Definitely too many blocks of large, suburban (white, so fucking white) houses.  
He feels as if he floats through the blocks, his hair getting absolutely soaked. It doesn’t phase him, it’s just hair. It’ll dry. It’s sort of beautiful, really. The way the raindrops hit the sidewalk and grass and leaves, making the world so sparkly so quickly and effortlessly.   
The main road of the city comes into view, already full of cars racing either south or north, partially covering the view of a bright red fast food restaurant. That’s a good place to stay, right? No one will question it when a teenage boy dressed in all black and grey comes in, soaked head to toe, silently and sits at one of the tables moping around for… who knows how long, ordering absolutely nothing. Ah, whatever, it’s better than sitting in the mud at the park.   
Only a few other people are in the restaurant: a worker that seriously looks like she doesn’t want to be there, a middle aged man finishing his breakfast sandwich, and an old man sipping a coffee while simultaneously staring out the window. Connor takes a seat as far away from the man as possible.   
The worker leans on the counter next to the cash register and fixedly stares at Connor, furrowing her eyebrows as if in anger. It’s definitely not anger. Well, it could be. She looks young. About college age. She could have graduated in the time Connor has been at this current school. That’s a weird thought.   
The middle aged man throws his trash away, glaring at Connor as he does so. Connor can imagine the man having to deal with a kid like himself at home, throwing ‘tantrums’ and skipping school because it just sounds exhausting, dude. Absolutely fucking exhausting.   
That’s the joy about depression, you know?  
Feeling heavy all the time, constantly on and off the verge of tears, everyone finding you lazy. Grinning at the sound of your own death. He probably looks crazy when he imagines his own death, funeral, the whole nine yards, but he’s used to it, being called crazy all the time, that is. He know he shouldn’t be; but he is.   
The employee takes one last glance at him before retreating from the cash register to the kitchen. 

He ends up getting kicked out.   
Fair enough, though. When you’re sitting in a fast food chain for almost three hours, on the verge of sleeping, without ordering a thing, it’s bound to happen sooner or later.   
The rain still hasn’t stopped. It’s slowed down _a little_ , but not enough to make a huge difference. Connor can feel his hair stick to his face for dear life, walking the direction of the school again. A few people walk by with umbrellas and backpacks as he nears the building, frowning at him and hiding their whispers behind hands.   
‘The fuck is up with him?’ ‘How high is he right now?’ ‘He wasn’t in Chem this morning. Everyone just assumed he died,’  
The last one makes his eye twitch.   
But not snap.   
He can’t bother looking anyone in the eye, let alone look at them in general, as he climbs into the backseat of the car. The seat is slightly worn out with a couple scratches here at there, but the cold not-leather feels nice against Connor’s legs all the same. It’s relaxing; just sitting along the back seats, stretching out, listening to the rain hit the windows and ground outside.   
His phone vibrates.   
Probably just some notification from some social media app he doesn’t use, or possibly a new news story that really doesn’t matter, now that he has wifi again.   
Either way, he doesn’t check it.   
Just sort of… dozes off into his own world. It’s a good change from all the absolute fucking chaos of the real world.   
His phone vibrates.   
He doesn’t check it.   
Dogs run around, chasing their tails or playing with each other. A large tree and ice cream parlour stand together off to the left near a tiny waterfall and pond full of koi fish. Music is playing, that of a relaxing song that Connor doesn’t recognize, but enjoys through and through.   
His phone vibrates again.   
And again.   
And, for the fifth time, again.   
He’s fed up at this point. This isn’t a social media app or a news story.   
They’re texts.   
Right. Because people now text him. For some wild reason. Three are from Zoe meanwhile two are from Evan.   
_[evan] now  
I’m just going to talk to you for a minute or two. Mrs Stern is only giving me five minutes. _

_[zoe] 2 minutes ago  
I saw you coming up the sidewalk. You ain’t slick, you know I have music class right now. I can see you clearly. Evan’s on his way to make sure you’re alright because I sure as hell am not. _

_[evan] 17 minutes ago  
Alana made and brought cookies. We saved one for you._

_[zoe] 32 minutes ago  
Where the hell are you?_

_[zoe] 54 minutes ago  
Evan was waiting for you before school_  
Great.   
Actually, whatever. He gets cookies. As long as they’re not too sweet, he’ll be fine.   
A knock on the window makes Connor jump. He looks up at makes eye contact with Evan, who is standing, crouched, with a Tupperware container held above his head, as if that’s doing anything for the dampness of his hair. He should really be concerned about his cast.   
Connor opens the door, Evan stepping in and sitting, placing the Tupperware container on the seat and staring at Connor, no specific emotion visible on his face.   
“I, uh, I thought I should give you a couple. Well, it wasn’t really _me_ that thought so, more Alana, but at least I didn’t do what Jared did and say not to give you any and not tell you. One is M &M and the other is, uh, oatmeal raisin because Alana’s grandma likes them and she had a couple left over,”  
Connor nods. “Cool. Thanks,”  
Evan opens his mouth to say something, closes it, thinks, and just replies with, “you’re welcome,” and mumbles something about getting back to class, then stumbles away.   
Connor watches his soulmate as he stumbles all the way inside, trying his hardest to shield his hair and cast from the rain. It’s funny. A weird churning feeling settled itself in Connor’s stomach, followed by a burst of completely hopelessness, prompting him not to laugh at the amusing image of Evan, except just stare at his lap and fend back tears that don’t even want to escape.   
The cookies sit there. 

The cookies sit there.   
All alone in the back seat, being pushed around by the turning and stopping of the car as Zoe drives.   
She shakes her head and takes a deep breath.   
“Where were you all day?” She asks, stopping at a stop sign.   
“Out.”  
“And why is that?”  
“Dunno.”  
“You do realize that I did think you killed yourself almost all morning until I saw you walking up the sidewalk?”  
“So that’s the only thing about me now? My entire personality is just ‘ _hey! I wanna kill myself!_ ’ now?”  
“That’s not what I said,”  
“I know you meant it. You know you meant it.”  
Zoe doesn’t say anything, except she does readjust her grip on the steering wheel.   
“Whenever I’m alone I’ll find a way? Just constantly seeing shit and thinking, ‘I can kill myself with that.’ Is that what I am to you now?”  
“Not at all-”  
“The first two times you didn’t do this. Those were even attempts, not just ‘I was thinking about it.’ Not two shits were given when I tried to those times,”  
“I’m not in the mood for this today,”  
“Good.”  
“Good.”  
Neither is he, really. But having all his _fuck ups_ acting up at (mostly) the same time, with contradictory symptoms, even when he is or isn’t in the mood for something, the other will say ‘yeah, you are, or aren’t, doing this.’  
It’s fun.   
He texts Evan: _my fam is terrible. coming to ur house. probably spending the night._ and, without a response, tells Zoe to bring him there. She tries to argue, getting a glare, then blankly asks for the address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this one is late my step dad is a fucking dumbass and didn’t pay the wifi bill so we don’t have wifi at home but i’m jackin wifi from my grandmas house to post this nthe shit  
> better late then never tho


	11. Chapter Eleven

The last thing Connor remembers from last night is eating cold pizza and falling asleep on the couch to some old 80s kids cartoon Evan picked out, so how he ended up curled up on the floor of Evans bedroom with two pillows and a blanket is completely beyond him. It’s still dark outside and a quiet snoring comes from only a few feet away, the moon shining bright silver light through the open curtains and onto Evan’s sleeping form.   
Did Evan move him last night? Or did Evan wake him up just enough to go down a hall? Did they actually not watch the cartoon and instead just went to sleep in a mutual agreement to not sleep in the same bed for, well, obvious reasons. That conversation will be fun.   
What time is it?  
Connor feels around the floor for his phone, the only way to silently check the time. The phone is right next to his pillows, placed neatly on the floor with his bag. The screen fills half the room with bright light.   
It’s almost 6 a.m.   
5:49, to be exact.   
The point of waiting ten minutes for his alarm to go off is… quite pointless, actually. Most people would kill for that. Connor never really understood it. You’re still awake, it’s not like you’re sleeping and getting more energy for the day. You aren’t allowed to get too comfortable, else you’ll fall back asleep and miss the alarm.   
So, silently, well, as silently as possible, Connor stands and leaves the room, not bothering to close the door behind him due to the hallway light being off. All the lights are off, actually, except for the foyer room. Evan mentioned that his mom gets home late. He probably left it on for her.   
That’s cute.   
Connor flicks on the light of the kitchen, squinting at the sudden change. It’s small, but definitely the most recently renovated. There’s a fucking island, for God’s sake. Most houses this size don’t have an island in their kitchen. Connor shakes his head. Where’s the cereal?  
He begins raiding the cupboards, completely oblivious to the noise. He’s letting the cupboards shut by themselves, which lets a long creak emit every single time, followed by a quiet slam. They definitely didn’t renovate the cupboards much.   
The cereal is stashed in a cupboard beside the fridge and the bowls right next to it. Convienience is nice. They definitely appreciate it in this house. If only Cynthia appreciated it in the Murphy’s house. Actually, it wouldn’t make much difference except for Connor’s 2 am bowls of cereal with cold gluten-free vegan pizza.   
A mumble comes groggily from the arch to the kitchen.   
Connor turns on his heels to see Evan in a loose red shirt and grey sweatpants.  
Okay. Wow.   
Connor didn’t think he could ever be attracted to Evan in this way.   
But wow.   
“Morning,” Connor pours another bowl of whatever cereal he grabbed. It’s some off brand Froot Loops, from what he can gather from the Trench side of the box.   
Evan mumbles something incoherently and sits at the table, almost falling back asleep with his head on said table, and waits for breakfast.   
“Not a morning person?” Connor sets the bowls down, one near Evans head and one in front of the three other seats.   
Evan shakes his head and lifts in slowly, pulling the cereal toward him. He mumbles a thanks and begins eating slowly.   
“Would it be alright if I just stayed here all day?” Connor asks, poking his cereal. “Like, watched a couple movies? I don’t wanna go to my house,”  
Evan nods, “that’s okay with me. Dunno if mom is gonna be home, though, so you can just say you’re my- friend,”  
That word makes the both of them blush. Connor’s pretty sure that’s the first time one of them has called the other their friend in presence of said other one. It’s strange, actually. Connor can’t recall the last time someone has called him their friend.   
And it’s Evan Hansen, for God’s sake. The kid that was probably genuinely scared Connor was going to murder him on their first outing! Calling them friends! He’s been nice enough for Evan to get comfortable around him! It makes him giddy and way too happy.   
“That, I will do,” Connor says, taking a bite of his cereal.   
They fall silent, both just left alone to think at stupid o’clock in the morning. It’s a dangerous thing, really; leaving Connor alone with his thoughts. But he’s not alone, he has a friend. That also somehow happens to be his soulmate. He forgot about that. Maybe it’s because Cynthia stopped asking.   
Yep. That’s definitely it.   
Evan is the first to finish his cereal. Connor watches as he stands up and leaves his bowl in the sink.   
Holy shit.  
Has Evan’s back always looked this good?  
No, it’s probably just the way the shirt is hanging.   
Yep. That’s definitely it.  
Only a minute or two later, Connor finishes his own cereal. He sits on the couch, not quite sure what to do with himself. He could be getting into comfortable clothes. Evan probably has some he can borrow. Actually, Evan definitely has some he can borrow. Those sweatpants looked like they would fit Connor. And if Evan has one pair of them, he probably has more. Right?  
Connor can see the floral wall in the reflection of the TV and window. It’s hideous. Why would Evan’s parents keep it? Like, at least cover it up with a painting or something. A family portrait.   
He knows Cynthia would like it. Cynthia would most definitely like it.   
God, how would Cynthia and Evan’s mom get along? He’s not thought about that yet. They’re bound to meet sooner or later. What is Evan’s mom like? She must be a good mom, considering she raised Evan to turn out like this. Or, she’s the complete opposite and why Evan has such bad anxiety.   
The former is probably it. Evan wouldn’t talk about her so positively if she was the main contributor to his anxiety.   
What about Larry and Evan’s dad? Would they get along? No, that’s a stupid question, if course they would. All dads get along. All they need are a couple beers and some camp chairs and a topic to talk about and suddenly they’re best friends.   
Now that he thinks about it, Evan hasn’t really talked about his dad. Is he not a good parent or something? Never around, always at work or the bar or something? Oh no, is he an alcoholic, the reason Evan has bad anxiety?  
“I was thinking,” Evan sits next to Connor, “can you at least come to school at lunch break or something? You already missed yesterday and people already assumed you- yknow,”  
Connor groans and tilts his head back to rest on the back of the couch. “Fine,”  
Evan smiles a bit. Connor does the same.   
They’ve known each other for only almost two weeks and it’s already probably the best bond Connor can recall having.   
Well, other than his relationship with Zoe when they were younger. But that doesn’t count. He’s fucked up that relationship too much. Probably to the point Zoe has forgotten all those good memories.   
It wouldn’t surprise him, honestly.   
“D’you have something I can change into? Don’t wanna _chillax_ here in skinny jeans, yknow?”  
Evan laughs. And nods. “The bottom drawer to the left in my dresser has a bunch of pajamas and stuff. Just… find something in there, I guess?”  
The time slowly ticks to 6:30.   
Soon, Evan has to leave for school. Connor offers to drive before remembering Zoe will most definitely be on watch for him outside, being told to by Cynthia. He redacts the offer, apologising in probably the worst way possible, and Evan saying multiple times that its fine and he walks every day anyway.   
Connor watches as Evan begins heading to school, until he’s completely out of view. Then he just stands at the window, looking up at the tall tree in the Hansens’ front yard. It’s most definitely a young tree. Only about ten years, Connor would guess. Ten or eleven. Give or take a few. A couple leaves come off of the branches in the morning wind. The joys of autumn.   
He looks down at the floor. It’s a dark brown wood. It’s just like the flooring in his own house, except this one is just slightly darker.   
As he does this, he sees his legs. And his skinny jeans that are clinging onto said legs. It’s not that comfortable, really. As a kid, skinny jeans were comfortable. More comfortable than sweats, thirteen year old Connor would say. And they were. They fit well. He’s pretty sure it’s just the fact that this specific pair is old and have grown him out just a bit. Yet he refuses to replace them. They’ve become a sort of comfort place, if that makes any sense whatsoever.   
Right, Evan said he could borrow some pants and such.   
Just sweats will do. Sweats and his own hoodie.   
They’re not at the point they’re sharing shirts. 

The day goes by quickly, Connor finding himself eating a bag of popcorn and watching some god-awful movie on Netflix. It’s so bad. He loves it.   
He’s so invested in how much he hate-loves the movie he doesn’t even realize when the front door swings open and the same woman from the picture is staring at this long-haired, tired teenager in her son’s clothing and eating her food while watching something on _her_ TV.   
“Oh, shit, sorry.” Connor lays the bag of popcorn down on the coffee table. He stands and smiles at her. “Uh, I’m Connor. Hi,”  
“Who- how are you in my house?”  
“Evan let me in?”  
“How do you know Evan?”  
“We’re friends.” The woman’s face lights up at Connors statement. “Has he not…?”  
“Oh! He has a friend! Oh my god!” The woman grins and lets her purse fall to the floor as she steps toward Connor. “Hello! I’m Heidi- Evan’s mom. You said your name was Connor?”  
“Uh, yeah. Has he not told you about me?” Heidi shakes her head. “Oh. Well, yeah. We’re friends. Have been for, like, almost two weeks now. And he hasn’t told you about me?”  
Heidi shakes her head again, “absolutely nothing. I did get a notification that he missed his first period class a week ago, though,” she gasps, “was he with you?”  
Connor’s first instinct is to shake his head. But he doesn’t.   
What good would lying do in this situation?  
Saying they weren’t together when they really were?  
At least it’s not the other way around.   
“Yeah.” He nods.   
Heidi absolutely beams. She pulls Connor into a warm hug, “don’t make him miss another class,”  
Connor nods in understanding.   
Heidi takes a step away and wipes her hands on her pants, resting them on her hips and looking Connor up at down. A frown tugs at the edges of her smile. Her eyebrows knit together.   
“Why aren’t _you_ at school?”  
“Oh,” Connor scratches the back of his neck, “Dunno. Just… I dunno,”  
“Okay. Well, your hair looks all greasy, no offence,” she laughs for only a second or two before moving on, “Why don’t you take a shower? I can make you something to eat,”  
“No, Mrs Hansen, I’m fine,”  
“Please, it’s the-“  
“No. Really. I’m fine.” He looks around. “We can make something together?”  
He immediately wants to redact that suggestion.   
He’s known this lady for, what, five minutes? Maybe seven? He’s already acting like they’re all _chummy_. She probably doesn’t even like him. She probably heard about all this shit he got into in passed years from Evan and emails from the school. She’s only pretending to like him so he feels comfortable.   
He can see Cynthia doing the same thing. Welcoming this angry, fucked up teenager with open arms and luring them into the false sense of security before saying they know about all the shit and throwing him to the curb.   
“Yeah! That’s great!” Heidi grins. “Just let me get ready? I’m sure you don’t want sweat in your food,”  
Connor laughs awkwardly.   
Heidi takes her purse and turns to corner to the bathroom. Connor stands completely still, not sure what to do. Does he wait in the kitchen? Does he sit back down on the couch? Does he clean up his mess? Does he get out of Evans pants and back into his own ones?  
Okay, that last sentence probably could have been worded better.   
Connor doesn’t bother correcting himself. It’s not like anyone heard, and if someone did, they would understand the circumstances and maybe awkwardly laugh.   
Before he can think of something to do while he waits for Heidi, she’s making her way back towards him and grinning.   
“C’mon. I don’t have much time so it needs to be quick.” Connor follows her into the kitchen. “Grilled cheese?”  
Connor shrugs while nodding. “Yeah, sure. I need to go to school soon anyway,”  
“I can drive you!” Heidi beams. Connor begins shaking his head politely, interrupted by her enthusiastic, “please. I insist,”  
He can’t argue with that. He can just walk with Evan after they’re done. If Evan can walk _to_ school, he can walk back.   
There’s no reason not to have her drive him.   
Connor finds that he’s not good at keeping conversations going with people older than him.   
He tries. He really, really does. It’s just that Heidi isn’t giving him anything to really build off of. It’s really all about school and his family which, to no surprise, aren’t the best subjects to have conversations with him about.   
School is complete shit and makes him feel terrible.   
His family hates him.   
So life is going just great.   
Heidi can, without a doubt, sense this. Connor’s pretty sure it’s either motherly instincts or raising Evan.   
“If you ever need to talk about things…” she says and sets two plates of slightly burned grilled cheese on the table. One for her and one for Connor.   
“No, I’m fine.” He looks up at her doubt filled face. “Really,”  
“Even just a hug,”  
“Okay,”  
He doesn’t want to get annoyed at her. Desperately. That would inevitably end with her telling Evan to cut all ties from him because he’s _dangerous_ and _a bad influence_. And that is something he would rather not happen.   
“Evan can probably understand you better,” she mutters, “he has… problems too. He’s your age as well, not some forty year old woman. He may not be able to help with problems, but he’s a great listener. I don’t know if you’ve already talked to him about things, but I’d say it’d be a good idea to. Unless you have someone else that can listen. Do you have any siblings that can?”  
She sounds so desperate.   
A one word reply doesn’t feel appropriate.   
“A sister. We’re not that close, though,”  
“Oh. That’s unfortunate.” She falls silent for a moment or two. “What’s her name?”  
“Zoe,”  
“Oh! I’ve heard Jared and Evan talk about her. Is she another one of Evans friends that he hasn’t told me about?”  
“Nope,”  
“She sounds nice. You should bring her over sometime, so I can meet her,”  
“I’ll try,”  
They don’t speak another word the rest of the time they’re eating, Connor is getting back into his own jeans, and they’re driving Connor to school. In fact, the only words spoken are Connor thanking her as he gets out of the car and her saying ‘bye.’

Alana is showing Evan something on her computer. Evan seems really invested in it, so invested, in fact, that he nearly falls out of his chair when Connor greets them.   
“Sorry.” Evan mutters, re-adjusting himself. “Hi,”  
“Hello,” Connor nods to both of them. Alana closes her laptop and pushes it to the side. “I met your mother,”  
“Oh! Really? Um- how, how was it?”  
“Good. She’s really nice,”  
Evan smiles. “I know,”  
“I see where you get it from,”  
Evan blushes lightly. He and Connor silently agree for Alana to take the wheel.   
On his to-do list for this week is pretty much impossible:  
First, Heidi wants to meet Zoe. In order to do that, Connor will have to at least try and make mends with her.   
Second, ask Evan why Heidi is always at work. It doesn’t seem necessary, in a way, what with both parents working all the time. Some extra funds, maybe. Saving up extra for Evans college?  
Third, he has to learn how to make grilled cheese the way Heidi did, because good lord, that was good.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Connor stares at Evan’s ceiling and waits for his alarm to go off.   
He decided that he’s going to go home today.   
When, no clue.   
He’s just… it’s complicated. He knows he’s fucked up his relationship with that family beyond repair at this point. So why he wants to keep that promise to Heidi and bring Zoe over someday is something that, on one hand, makes him doubt everything he’s ever known, and, on the other hand, makes him fucking terrified.   
Because what if it goes well? What if Zoe is actually open to at least trying to mend their relationship? What if they do and end up closer than ever? And then he snaps or does something stupid? What would happen then? And what would happen ten years down the line?  
And what if it goes the exact opposite? Connor tries to be nice for at least a day and Zoe completely rejects it. What will he do then? What would he say to Heidi? _Hi, so me and my sister aren’t_ not very close, _rather, she hates my guts and would probably throw a party if I died_. Not a funeral party, no, a party with streamers and cake and balloons and the whole nine-yards.   
Not to mention, doing something for someone he’s known for a grand total of 45 minutes because she didn’t know he was this fucked up, it’s crazy. It’s absolutely insane.   
Fucking bonkers.   
Worth a shot.   
He always has the Hansen’s if things don’t go well with Zoe, at least. Heidi just felt too warm and inviting that Connor has a hard time imagining her not letting him stay with her. Evan’s dad, though, that’s a mystery. Would he be okay with it, or against it, or just isn’t home enough to care?  
“What are you thinking about?” Evan mutters from his bed. Connor slowly turns onto his side to face Evans bed.   
“Why haven’t you talked about your dad at all. Like, where is he all the time?”  
“Oh…” Evan’s form sits up and slowly turns to lean against the wall, “Colorado,”  
Connor raises an eyebrow as he stands and takes a seat next to Evan on the bed. “Colorado? What does that mean?”  
“He lives in Colorado.” Evan shrugs. “Pretty straightforward,”  
“So… your parents are divorced?”  
“When I was seven,”  
Connor doesn’t know what to say.   
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place,”  
“No. It’s fine. It’s early,” Connor shakes his head. “What about you? What were you thinking about?”  
“Dunno. I have anxiety, what _wasn’t_ I thinking about?”  
“Touché.” Connor rests his head on the wall and stares at the ceiling. “It’s Thursday today, right?”  
“Mhm,”  
“You came over to my house for dinner last week Wednesday, right?”  
“... yeah,”  
“It’s been seven and a half days since then.” Connor exhales and his stomach ties itself in a knot. “Zoe’s gonna meet her _soulmate_ this weekend,”  
“You’ve been keeping track.”  
Connor can _hear_ the amusement and astonishment in Evans voice. He nods.   
“Didn’t really realise, honestly,” Connor looks at the wall, to Evan, back at the wall, and back at Evan. “What do I do?”  
They make brief eye contact before Evan gets uncomfortable with it and looks anywhere else.   
“What do you mean?”  
“Do I just sit there like normal, or do I follow her and try to figure it out? Do I know her soulmate personally? Is it just a barista at a café or something?”  
Evan doesn’t reply.   
And Connor doesn’t go on.   
He just lets out a heavy sigh and stares out the window. The sun nowhere near being in sight, let alone lighting up the room. The silence is still strange without the _tick, tick, tick_ of counting down to, well, Evan. That’s what the timer was counting down to.   
When he would meet his soulmate.   
When he would meet Evan.   
And it’s still strange to think of Evan as his soulmate. They get along well, he will admit that, but the idea of spending almost every waking moment possible with him now, it’s fucking crazy. They didn’t know each other only two weeks ago. Now it’s the closest bond Connor has had in… what, five years? Maybe six. All because some numbers on a wrist.   
“You aren’t scared of me still, are you?” Connor mentally slaps himself and looks at Evan inquiringly.   
Evan just keeps his eyes fixed on his lap. “No,”  
Connor lets out a breath he didn’t know he was keeping.   
Connor looks out the window then to the alarm clock on Evans nightstand. There’s only a few more minutes until it goes off, and trying to lay back down and pretend to be asleep until then is… not that smart. Connor moves to the edge of the bed, where he stands and looks at Evan. Evan glances at the clock and, wordlessly, follows his soulmates actions, leading the pair to the kitchen.   
“You should probably go home today,” Evan says, pouring cereal and looking at Connor who is sitting at the table already.   
Connor laughs lightly, “Why?”  
“I dunno.” Evan shrugs, “your mom is probably pretty worried? You haven’t been home in almost two days now. And your dad-“  
“Larry wouldn’t give two shits. Trust me. He and Zoe would throw a party if I died,”  
“No they wouldn’t,”  
“Yeah they would,”  
“I really don’t-“  
“Evan.” Connor accepts the bowl of cereal Evan sets in front of him and pokes at it with a spoon. “I grew up with them. They fucking hate me,”  
Evan sighs. “Alright,”  
And, suddenly, they have the same goal for that day. 

Connor does end up taking Evan’s advice and goes home right after driving Evan to school.  
Sure, Evan’s like, fifteen minutes early, but at least he has time to himself. He offered to just go home with Connor then all him, Zoe, and Connor could just drive together.   
“What? And let you see Zoe scream at me for not being at the house and making mom cry? I don’t think so,”  
He debated mentioning something about Evan’s crush on Zoe. He didn’t; it wasn’t necessary and if he trying to be nice today it most definitely wouldn’t keep Evan happy.   
But, as soon as Connor enters the house, to no surprise, Cynthia is hugging him tightly and fixing his hair and looking at his face and everything. The house smells weird now that he’s spent the last few days at Evans house. Evan’s house smells warm and comforting, like vanilla. It smells worn in and like a home, not just a house.   
This place smells expensive. Like rich mahogany. But not the good mahogany. Like Cynthia got a can of air scent and sprayed it everywhere, to the point she used half the can. It smells big and cold and like Larry wants to make a point of his salary.   
He’s not really ever noticed it before. It feels like it should be a small difference, but it really isn’t.   
“Connor where were you I was so worried oh my goodness,” Cynthia says, patting down Connors hair. It’s not like it’s doing anything. He can’t remember the last time he brushed it, “you could have at least told Zoe you were going to be gone so long,”  
He looks down at her.   
Her eyes have deep bags under them and have a slight redness to them. Her frown lines are almost as bad as Larry’s and her hair is messy.   
God. She looks like she thought he had killed himself. She definitely did.   
Yeah. One hundred percent.   
She smiles wearily up at her son, who is biting the inside of his cheek and playing with a small card in his pocket.   
“Sorry.” Is all he can say for a few moments, then, “I was just at Evan’s. I had food and everything there. Don’t worry,”  
“You still look so tired, honey. You need sleep,”  
If anyone needs sleep, it’s her. She’s very obviously almost falling asleep as she speaks. Connor nods and passes her, feeling her eyes on him as he steps up the stairs two at a time. In the hallway stands Zoe, arms crossed and-  
You know the line between angry and sad? Zoe’s that line as she stares at him.   
“You’ve been waiting for me like that?” Connor can’t help but laugh.   
“Why didn’t you come home yesterday? I saw you at school,”  
“Because i didn’t want to…? The fuck kind of question is that,” he pushes past his sister and stands in the doorway of his own bedroom. “Why was mom so concerned? Like, more than usual,”  
Zoe frowns. “I kind of made a joke that you might have killed yourself last night before everyone went to bed,”  
Connor is speechless. She did _what_ , now? “Why the fuck would you say that?”  
“I dunno. Lighten the mood?” She shrugs. “It was late, okay?”  
“Whatever… I’m really not in the mood for this right now. God.” He runs a hand through the tangled mess some would call his hair. “You’re really stupid sometimes, you know that, right?”  
“Yeah…” Zoe rubs the back of her neck and laughs awkwardly.   
Just as soon as Connor is about to turn around and enter his bedroom to… get ready? He really doesn’t know, Zoe speaks up again, except this time with amusement in her voice.   
“Mom said she thought you looked tired.”   
Connor stops dead in his tracks and turns to her, “and?”  
“And you said you just spent the last couple days at Evan’s,”  
He rolls his eyes as Zoe gives this shit-eating grin, unable to hold it back.   
“I’m not going to even…” Connor turns fully back into the hallway, “I hate you,”  
“And there it is,” Zoe drops her arms to her sides, “thanks,” and turns into her own room, closing the door and leaving Connor alone.   
He groans.   
They were doing well.   
He was doing well.   
He hears people say that to their friends at school and in public as a term of endearment. When their friend does or says something stupid, their response is usually something along those lines, right? Or is that just a select few and everyone else finds it just plain old rude and disrespectful.   
He should’ve known. Fuck. After years of screaming that and actually meaning it, Zoe probably thinks he still genuinely means it. And while, yes, sometimes and in some circumstances, he does hate her. But most of the time, now, it’s alright.   
He’s just gotten so tired of being so angry all the time, to tell the truth.   
Maybe Evan has had an influence on him.   
Evan is nice to people no matter what. No matter what they say, or do, or intend, or _anything_. He’s always nice to them. Maybe some of that has rubbed off on Connor, making him want to be nice to people sometimes.   
It’s strange. It’s so strange.   
The mission this morning Connor put upon right now Connor is insane. But he is going to pull through, no matter how hard it is and how much he wants to kill Zoe at times. He’s going to try to mend this relationship.   
For the mother of his soulmate that he only talked to for 45 minutes.   
Not for his own mother or himself or Zoe or anyone. For, virtually, a stranger.   
Cynthia calls her children downstairs, to which Zoe responds by glaring at Connor and following orders, prompting Connor to roll his eyes at her. _They were doing so well_.   
In the foyer, Zoe sits and ties her shoes, waiting for her brother. Cynthia offers him a piece of toast with strawberry jam on it, to be declined because he’s already eaten (which is visibly a surprise to Cynthia), and passed onto Zoe, who takes it with happiness and rests it in her mouth as she finishes tying her shoe.   
Zoe drives. It’s not really even a conscious descision on both their parts, they’ve just sort of gotten used to it at this point. Connor tries hating it, but there’s not really anything _to_ hate. She’s a better driver than him, doesn’t have really any distractions, and it’s better than Cynthia who desperately tries to make conversation. Zoe doesn’t want to talk to him, and he doesn’t want to talk to Zoe.   
Is this progress?  
They come to a stop at a red light.   
This one is notorious for taking way too long.   
Connor glances over at his sister, to find she’s taking deep breaths and trying to hold back a grin.   
“What’s wrong?”  
She grins, unable to hold it back anymore, “I meet my soulmate tomorrow,” and pulls back the sleeve of her shirt, showing the 00y/00m/01d/05h/35m on her wrist.  
“Oh, shit.” Connor breathes. “Congrats, I guess,”  
“Yeah…” Zoe turns back to the steering wheel and hides her smile again.   
“Are you gonna tell mom?”  
“I dunno… depends who it turns out to be. I mean, I didn’t expect yours to be a boy, so… mine might be a girl. Who knows though, right? You probably didn’t know you’re gay until you met Evan,”  
“You kidding me? Twelve. That’s when I knew,”  
“Five years?” Zoe starts driving as the light turns green, “and you didn’t tell anyone. I wouldn’t be able to do it,”  
He almost didn’t. Or couldn’t.   
Connor considers saying this.   
He doesn’t, knowing all too well it would ruin Zoe’s good mood.   
“Dunno. It’s easy when you’re able to laugh at people thinking you’re straight,”  
“Like mom,”  
“Just like mom,”  
Zoe doesn’t say anything after that. Neither does Connor. So they both sit and sway to the movement of the car as Zoe drives the rest of the way to school. There, she joins her friends excitedly. Connor stays in the car for a few extra minutes, staring ahead blankly.   
He blanks out the rest of the day, really. He doesn’t quite know what he’s doing or how he’s doing it, but he just knows he’s nodding at Evan every time they pass in the hall and receiving an enthusiastic grin and wave from Alana every time they’re in the same room and sometimes a slight smile from Zoe when they catch eyes. It’s strange.   
Really strange.   
He suddenly has friends.   
Two weeks ago people were glaring at him and wondering why he hadn’t killed himself yet. Now… well, look. There are people that enjoy being around him and actually consider him a _friend_.   
One of those people is Alana Beck.   
Who thinks Jared Kleinman wants to be one of those people.   
And who thinks Connor Murphy wants Jared Kleinman to be one of those people.   
Spoiler alert, neither of them want Kleinman to be one of those people.   
So when Connor approaches the table in the library with Evan, and is surprised by the presence of Kleinman in what would be Evan’s seat, he wishes the ground would swallow him whole.   
“What- why are you here?” Evan asks, not sitting across from Alana. So he’d rather sit next to her than across. Across from Connor than next to.   
Noted.   
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Kleinman shrugs, his voice poisoned by practiced confidence, “my friends aren’t here today. Where else was I gonna go?”  
Alana rolls her eyes subtly and tells Evan to sit, in probably the nicest way possible. Evan slowly sits in the open seat next to Connor, where he sets a banana, a granola bar, and water bottle on the table. Kleinman takes the banana and eats it obnoxiously.   
It’s gross, definitely, but the unwavering disgust from Alana’s face makes it better. Connor tries not to laugh at her disgust, and Evan’s astonishment, as they watch Kleinman eat. He has a reputation to uphold. At least around Kleinman, that is.   
Evan’s already seen him let down his reputation.   
Alana really doesn’t seem the type of person to do anything bad.   
It’s Kleinman he doesn’t trust. 

He has a reputation to uphold. At least around Murphy, that is.   
Evan’s already seen him let down his reputation.   
Alana really doesn’t seem the type of person to do anything bad.   
It’s Murphy he doesn’t trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think imma start updating on mondays bc it’s just more convenient for me


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Connor wakes up feeling particularly nice. He exhales with the tiniest hint of a smile and looks at the ceiling.   
He hasn’t had this happen in fuck knows how long. It hasn’t happened in so long, in fact, that he doesn’t quite know how to react to it. Or act. He feels good; everyone around him is used to him feeling… bad. It’s so fucking strange.   
The look on Zoe and Larry’s faces as he thanks Cynthia for breakfast makes it worth it. Their deadpanned glaring is replaced by surprise and, in Larry’s case, a bit of hope.   
So when Cynthia gets a response to her daily ‘I love you’s from not only Zoe and Larry, but Connor as well, her face lights up. And Connor knows days like this are good days. Sure, it’s still pouring outside and it’s impossible to get anywhere without soaking your shoes even further, but he still feels great.   
Why he asks Zoe if they’re _alright_ , with only a 50 percent chance that it’ll go well, is a question that he cannot answer.   
“What,” she slowly turns to him for half a second, “do you mean by that?”  
“Like, it’s complicated, but it includes shit like,” he counts on his fingers, “do you forgive me for things I’ve done, do you understand that I don’t fully mean it when I say _I hate you_ anymore. And- if the answer is yes or no- can we be civil with each other and act like… not like we were. Like people that have grown up with each other but aren’t close,”  
Zoe exhales. “Wow, that’s a lot. Um… yeah. Sure,” She nods, “I’ll forgive you for most things. Some, no chance. There are things you’ve said and done to me, and mom, and dad, that are 100% unforgivable, but things that are forgivable outweigh the unforgivable,”  
“-and I’m sorry for those-”  
“But, yeah. I will forgive you for things. No matter how vague that word is.”  
When she doesn’t go on and answer his last question, Connor points this out (with a small thanks, of course). Zoe nods with her eyes closed.   
She says, “You forget that you’re my brother, and sometimes I forget that too. But you are. So, yeah. I, at least now I do, understand that you don’t mean it when you say you hate me. There’s obviously gonna be little parts of me that believe it, but I’ll keep in mind that at least you don’t mean it. _fully_.   
“And I did give _a flying fuck_ when you tried killing yourself. It hurt, it really did, and when you admitted you were planning on it. It didn’t hurt much immediately, though, it was just a shock.   
“Then I remembered us as kids and how close we were, and then how through everything were still siblings. We still have the same blood running through our veins. And I wanna be close, not just people that happened to grow up together but aren’t close, I want to go back to when we were kids, except in our now-forms. You know? So- all in all- yes. I want to be ‘alright’ with each other,”  
“Okay, good, thanks,”  
Connor feels a bit lighter.   
But, only a bit. There’s still a giant weight of not being out to his parents and not sure how Evan and himself are supposed to end up, the years that have built up of complete hatred and agony he’s given Zoe, the horrible fucking secrets he’s not telling Evan for, really, no reason at all.  
And so, Connor desperately tries to even out the good mood while simultaneously trying to keep his mind off of the weights as he drifts through the day.   
It’s definitely easiest during lunch hour, where there’s something to keep his mind off things.   
That _something_ turns into _someone_ as Evan sits in the seat across from where Connor is.   
And that _someone_ turns into _a friend group_ as Alana joins them.   
The three sit and talk about… not really anything. It’s mostly Alana talking about the weird things her siblings did the day previous, then Evan saying he doesn’t have any siblings. Just half siblings, a little brother and sister, in Colorado. Then they turn to Connor, expecting him to talk about Zoe.   
“Oh. Yeah. I, uh, have a little sister. Zoe Murphy. She’s a junior here. Evan knows her. You,” he looks at Alana, “probably do, too,”  
“Her name sounds familiar, but I’m afraid I don’t,”  
“Oh. I thought you would’ve. You know everyone in this place,”  
“I know everyone _in our grade_. Only a few below us. The number dwindles the further away I get from people in age. Hope I’ll get to meet her, though. Is she nice?”  
Depends who you ask.   
“Yeah. I guess so. I mean, I’m her brother, so what do I know?”  
Alana has a look of confusion crossing her face. Connor stops when he notices this.   
“What’s that mean?”  
“It’s complicated.” Connor glances to Evan for no reason in particular. Reflexes? Comfort? “On one hand, siblings never really one hundred percent get along. They’re always bickering, but are there for each other in the end. Me and Zoe, though. You know how fu- messed up I am, right? Yeah, well, she’s only seen the angry side of me for the last few years. So, asking me if she’s nice when we have hated each other for the majority of the last decade is as a loaded question,”  
“Oh…” Alana sighs, “I’m sure she is.”  
“You’ll probably meet her sooner or later,”  
They fall quiet, Alana checking over some seventh grade math homework while Connor and Evan just stare into space. Evan keeps his eyes fixed anywhere but Connor, meanwhile Connor does the exact opposite. He sneaks glances of Evan every few seconds.   
“Sooner,” Evan barely whispers, eyes following something behind Connor.   
Alana looks up. Connor turns around.   
Zoe waves.  
She stops as soon as she’s stood up against the chair across from Alana.   
“Hi.” She says, looking at Evan. Evan smiles awkwardly. “Hi.” She flicks the side of Connor’s head. “Hi.”   
As soon as she greets Alana, both girls freeze. Alana stops bouncing her pen and Zoe’s fingers on her left hand twitch.   
The dots connect.   
Connor’s head falls to his folded arms as he groans, “oh my god…”  
Evan pokes his arm. Connor looks up to a puzzled face. “I’ll tell you later,” Connor says the same way Evan did when he said _sooner_.   
“Okay, uh, sorry,” Zoe apologizes and blinks a couple times, slowly turning to the boys, “anyway. Connor, I know you didn’t want to, like, at all, but I went back to Giulia’s store and got something…” she pulls her backpack to her front and digs around in it, then pulls out a block of wood carved into a koi fish, “here,” and pushes it between Connor and Evan, “one of you can have it. And, as a bonus, I got you one of those books because… I dunno. Felt like it, I guess?” And, finally, drops one of the books Connor was going to get in front of him.   
“I told you not-”  
“I’m aware of that. But, it’s not you giving it to him. It’s me. Stop complaining, and just do some good sometimes,”  
Connor groans and sticks his tongue out at his sister. She copies. They smile at each other, neither not quite sure what to make of this day.   
Zoe turns around hesitantly and, with a wave to each of the three, leaves the library.   
“Can I-”  
“Yes, you can,” Connor cuts Alana off.   
Evan looks around, obviously not quite sure how to feel. 

There’s so much strangeness in Connor's life at the moment.   
Everything with Evan, his relationship with Zoe, suddenly having a friend group, this good mood, how he’s actually vocalising his appreciation for Cynthia.   
It’s just so strange.   
So, when Connor takes the entire ride home to convince Zoe to let him take the car and drive himself and Evan to the orchard and leave her and Alana alone, it’s possibly the most normal thing he can recall in recent weeks. Zoe is too overprotective of this car, though. She goes over basic ground rules before heading inside: _don’t crash the car; no engine idling; follow all lights and signs rules; don’t have sex in the backseat; dry off before getting in_. He agrees to all of them, rolling his eyes at the fourth rule.  
Evan moves to the front seat while Connor settles in the driver’s. They begin going almost immediately, Evan watching in the rear view as Connor’s house speeds away.   
“Why are we-“  
“Remember when your _ticking_ stopped?”  
“Well, yeah, I guess,”  
“It felt completely silent and sorta wrong in a way? You grew up thinking you wouldn’t notice it but the moment it stopped, you noticed?”  
“Yeah,”  
“Their ticking stopped,”  
Evan falls quiet.   
Connor imagines the complete disappointment and anger on Larry’s face when he finds out he has two kids with soulmates of the same gender. That will be such a fun conversation. Larry will definitely try to say they’re not right and it was a complete coincidence. But they’re soulmates. The _grand scheme of the universe_ is never wrong.   
Plus, the chances of it being a coincidence are little to none. There’s only one example of soulmate coincidence recorded in history, and it was way back in the 1300’s when people were only just discovering the idea that these numbers could mean something.   
But, what isn’t a coincidence, would definitely be Zoe speculating that her soulmate wasn’t a boy. What are the chances of her thinking, in a world where heterosexuality is still somehow the default, that her soulmate is a girl?   
At least they have yet another thing in common.   
Connor begins down the gravel road to the orchard, though at this point it’s just muddy rocks. The tiny parking lot isn’t much better, and with the direction this rain is going, the car could be stuck in the mud if they stay in the orchard more than an hour.   
For a split second Connor debates taking one of the walls off the little hut and putting little parts under each wheel. Then he realizes how stupid of an idea that is, for a multitude of reasons; so he just parks and hopes for the best.   
As soon as they enter the orchard, Evan looks up and around at the rain beaten trees. Connor doesn’t do the same. He tries to look away from Evan, but his brain keeps going ‘two more seconds.’ And then Connor notices the cast.   
“Shit, right.” He catches the attention of Evan. “Your cast. Let’s just… go to the café? It’ll be dry,”  
Evan’s gaze shifts between the café, which looks farther away than it actually is, and Connor, then nods. They each follow the other the rest of the way across the field, over the tiny bridge, which is slightly slippery in the rain unfortunately found out by Connor, and into the dark café.   
It’s cold. Way too cold for the few memories Connor still has of it. He’s used to the building being warm with the constant scent of freshly baked apple pie now it’s cold and wet with the scent of soaked wood. It’ll probably be better once this rain goes away, but even then doesn’t water rot wood?   
Rotten wood isn’t good.   
Connor can hear Kleinman teasing him about that accidental rhyme.   
Oh, he hates it.   
Evan chooses the driest table, which is one in the very middle of the room with only three complete legs on it. One half of one leg is still attached to the table, the other somehow stuck in the ceiling. It’s like someone threw it up and it stuck like a pencil. That’s actually probably what happened.   
Some asshole teenagers probably broke it off and threw it at the ceiling trying to kill a bird or something. There’s no other explanation, Connor decides.   
Evan blows off a thick layer of dust from the table right into Connor’s face, both coughing as it settles in the air. Evan apologizes profusely, the pair of them taking a chair each.   
“Please explain why _you’re_ explaining Zoe found her soulmate, not Zoe,”  
Connor raises an eyebrow, and feels his stomach do flips, at Evan’s sort of demanding tone.   
“Well, _sir_ ,” he says, teasing Evan’s tone, “I didn’t think she was gonna do it any time soon,”  
“What if she did, though?”  
“Oh, come on. Both of them were lost in their own little world and probably went dancing on rainbows with gummy bears for that ten seconds they ignored us. She’s really excitable, probably forgot about it anyway. She almost couldn’t sit still yesterday on our way to school because her numbers were down to one day,”  
“Oh… okay,”  
“Wonder how Larry will react to both kids having soulmates of the same sex,” Connor says, not really paying attention or caring if he said it aloud.   
He can hear Evan laugh a bit, “Why?”  
“Dunno. He most definitely isn’t expecting one, so having two will be double the disappointment. God, that’ll be fun,”  
“What- how?”  
“Telling him? Oh, just imagine this.” Connor stands and begins acting out the actions he’s saying, putting Evan in Larry’s spot and himself in his and Zoe’s, “we come into the living room one day, ‘hey, dad, we need to tell you something,’ we sit down across from him. ‘We both found our soulmates,’ ‘and before you say anything, blame the universe, not us,’ ‘and it’s not bad,’ Zoe: ‘my soulmate is Alana Beck. I met her last week at school while giving Connor and Evan presents.’ Me: ‘and my soulmate is Evan Hansen. We met after I called him a freak and pushed him to the ground!’” Connor leaves whatever persona that was and looks Evan dead in the eye, “that’ll go well, don’t you think?”  
“I mean, I don’t think that’s the _best_ way to go about it. But, yeah. I guess you’re right,”  
“See? I’m always right.” Connor smirks and leans back in the chair with this fake pride about him. He teeters on the back legs and exaggerates a smile at Evan.   
Evan laughs at the action and hoops a foot around the leg of Connor’s chair, pulling it to the floor. This catches Connor off guard, so instead of settling back up straight, he settles hunched over the table with his face closer than it’s probably ever been with Evan.   
Actually, scratch that. It’s closer than it’s ever been with anyone.   
“Hi,” Connor whispers, unable to stop himself.   
Something clicks in Evan’s brain and he shifts, not only his air that shifts but his body, moving away from Connor slowly.   
“I didn’t want you to fall,”  
And, with that, Connor knows something he doesn’t know he knows.   
It’s not that big or important, to his own standards. Maybe it’s just a small thing that won’t matter in a week, month, year.   
But it is big and important. It will matter in a week, month, year. Oh, how it’ll matter. It’ll affect most things about Connor in the coming time, and he isn’t sure how to react to it.   
What is that thing?  
Well, some things must be kept secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof not my best work but at least it’s not what i started out writing


	14. Chapter Fourteen

As September makes its reluctant departure and October brings itself onto calendars everywhere, the rain stops and is replaced by cold wind and dark clouds with the sun making an appearance every few weeks.   
As a kid, Connor loved this time of year. It always felt like bedtime and he always pretended he was supposed to be asleep. Now, he hates it. He has no idea why, but this weather always has a negative toll on him.   
Maybe it’s the darkness, or the wind, or the dead leaves being brushed up into large piles by middle aged parents (mostly dads), but regardless, Connor doesn’t want to leave his room. It’s not even just not wanting to leave his bed, no, no, he will sit at his desk and stare at the wall for hours on end even though he’s been hungry for five hours.   
The only thing that makes him open his door is Zoe screaming up the stairs for him because Evan is on his way over.   
And Connor is down and waiting in the foyer in ten seconds.   
Alana’s muffled laughing comes from the living room. Connor turns to her and raises an eyebrow.   
“What?”  
Alana fixes her glasses. “How do you have a leaf in your hair?”  
Connor reaches up to the back of his head, his palm meeting a dry leaf immediately. Connor glares at Alana in a ‘thank you’ kind of way as Zoe renters the foyer from the dining room.   
“His house is all the way across town and I _just_ texted him, damn,” Zoe mutters. She ties her hair up into a ponytail and looks around, “okay, what’s the plan?”  
“ _Plan_?” Connor repeats.   
“I mean, mom and dad are finally trusting us home alone, we have to do something special. A celebration. It’s been five years, for God’s sake.” The siblings enter the living room side-by-side. Zoe takes a seat next to Alana while Connor sits on the floor, despite the other five places to sit.   
“Shit, yeah. What time are they gonna be home?”  
“Sometime noon tomorrow,”  
Connor can’t help but feel they’re going from one extreme to the other. Cynthia went five years of not letting them home alone together for more than 20 minutes, now suddenly he and Zoe are making each other waffles in the morning and she’s trusting them for almost 18 hours?   
And not to mention Larry. The fact that he’s alright with it is absolutely astonishing. It probably took all night for Cynthia to convince him, and he’s still probably not quite sure about it. He most likely wanted to hire a babysitter.   
Alana will do.   
Connor’s pretty sure Zoe hasn’t told them she and Alana are soulmates yet. He thinks Zoe’s been spending more time with Alana than Katherine and Pippy and whatever the other one’s name is at this point. Cynthia hasn’t brought it up, which is weird. Heterosexuality is still the default after all, so she probably just thinks they’re _really good friends_.   
“What can we do?” Alana asks.   
“Dads definitely taking his wallet,” Zoe says, leaning on Alana’s shoulder, “so we can’t steal money and go to a restaurant or something. Unless we all pay for ourselves. You have money, right Connor?”  
He gives her this look of ‘you know the exact answer to that.’  
“Neither do I. So that’s off the table,”  
“We could just get a pizza and watch movies and play games.” Alana looks around, hopeful that her suggestion will go well. Zoe and Connor exchange a look, shrug, and agree.   
“I mean, I’m kinda tired, so I might just hang out with Evan in my room,”  
“What, and let you guys fuck up there?”  
“Oh, _come on_. We don’t like each other like that, believe me,”  
“Yes, and I just got off the phone with Barack Obama,”  
“What…?”  
Zoe sighs. “Never mind. So, that’s what we’re doing? Just getting real, actual, greasy pizza? Not whatever mom gets. And just hanging out all night?”  
Alana nods. “Yeah, sounds good,”  
The three sit and pick five movies as they wait for Evan to arrive. Zoe chooses some old ‘underrated’ Disney movie, which Connor truly doesn’t want to watch from the description and cover, but he can recall Evan saying he really likes it, so he can’t bring himself to complain. They agree on watching that movie first, to ‘get it out of the way,’ so Connor can go hide away with Evan in his room.   
A quiet few knocks, followed by a quieter murmur, then an erratic ringing of the doorbell is heard only half an hour later. Zoe stands to check who it is, only knocked out of the way by Connor rushing and opening the door. He looks down to Evan, and behind him is… Kleinman.   
“Hey,” he greets Evan with a smile, then nods toward Kleinman, “the fuck is he doing here?”  
“His parents are out of town for a, uh, what was it?”  
“Family emergency.” Kleinman says with air quotes and pushes past Evan into the house.   
“Go ahead,” Connor deadpans, watching as Kleinman greets Alana and Zoe. He turns back to Evan, who just looks tired.   
“… so he’s staying with me and mom,” Evan finishes.   
“I’m sorry,” Connor mutters, genuinely sorry that Evan has to put up with… _that_ for an entire weekend.   
Evan shrugs. The two stand, their eyes locked, for what is actually a second or two, but what feels like a year. And then Connor hears Kleinman’s loud voice from the living room. He groans, letting Evan inside.   
There, Kleinman is sprawled out on one of the sofas and staring around the large room.   
“This _room_ is as big as Evan’s entire bhouse.” Kleinman smacks the back of the couch with an open hand.   
Connor can feel Evan shrink beside him.   
He can’t quite pin what it is about Kleinman that makes him so fucking unbearable. Sure, he’s loud and obnoxious, and makes terrible jokes most of the time, but he definitely means well. Actually, mostly well. He forgot about the first day for a second there.   
Connor subconsciously reaches up and laces his fingers in his own hair, scratching at his scalp for, really, no reason. The greasiness of it is disgusting.   
Why didn’t Alana tell him _that_?  
He can’t think about that now, though. Or, he _can_ , his brain just won’t let him. Instead, he focuses on how his thigh is so close to Evan’s.   
They’re not even touching, for fuck sake!  
“Okay, so, we had no clue you were coming,” Zoe says, a bit of dread apparent in her voice, to Kleinman, “so please don’t do anything to ruin the house; mom would kill you, then me and Connor, then Alana and Evan for not monitoring you. And that’s not ideal for any of us,”  
Connor raises a hand. “What if it is? What if we would like to die?”  
Zoe purses her lips and glares at him.   
“Anyway,” Alana butts in, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, where Connor had been only forty five minutes previous, “we were thinking, since we have close to no money, that we could just hang out here. Order a pizza or two, watch some movies,”  
Evan crosses his ankles, his right foot now just barely touching Connor’s. It seems so insignificant. It really is, but when you’re Connor and are desperate for touch, it means the fucking world.   
Connor, completely on autopilot, follows Zoe’s lead from earlier and leans his head on Evan’s shoulder. He can feel Evan stiffen at the action, then slowly loosen up. It’s cute, actually.   
He never thought he’d be thinking that about his _friend_. Friends aren’t supposed to call each other cute, are they? He’s heard Zoe call her friends cute, so it must be normal, right? Damned if he knows, he hasn’t had a real friend since he was 10. And, even then, it was just because they were partnered up by the teacher for a science project and were technically forced to be friends.   
How would Evan react if he heard Connor call him cute?  
That’s a question he does _not_ want to find out the answer to.   
Kleinman wolf-whistles from the sofa. Connor opens his eyes, not sure when he closed them in the first place, and lifts his head to look Kleinman dead in the eye.   
“What?” He demands.   
“Nothing, nothing,” Kleinman makes eye contact with Evan. “Go ahead. Continue. Pretend I’m not here,”  
Connor rolls his eyes and leans into the couch, closing his eyes once again while Evan begins bouncing his leg, causing Connor’s foot to move up and down slightly with it. 

They’re only on the second movie when Connor is on the verge of falling asleep of boredom and Evan is lolling his head side to side to stay awake. Evan’s head slowly falls to the left, he unable to keep it upright any longer. It lands on Connor’s shoulder, Evan immediately beginning to snore blissfully and Connor snapping wide awake from the weight.   
“Oh my god…” Zoe mutters, absentmindedly playing with Alana’s fingers and noticing her brother’s current position.   
Connor rolls his eyes.   
He places a hand on Evan’s thigh and slowly shakes it, hoping it’ll wake him. It does, too quickly. Evan wakes up as if he’s pretending he never fell asleep, eyes wide open and hitting Connor’s jaw with the top of his head.   
“C’mon,” Connor says, standing slowly, holding a hand out for Evan to take, “you’re gonna fucking break your neck if you sleep out here,”  
“Hey, language!” Zoe sounds too much like Cynthia.   
Connor rolls his eyes.   
Evan raises his eyebrows in confusion but stands regardless. Kleinman wolf-whistles from his spot sprawled out on the couch with a crocheted blanket thrown haphazardly over his legs.   
“Fuck off.”  
But Kleinman doesn’t. He continues teasing the two with sexual innuendos and noises. He begins moaning sexually as Connor leads Evan up the stairs, the sound muffled almost immediately from, probably, Zoe throwing a pillow over his mouth. Connor groans.   
“The fuck is up with him?” Connor asks as he closes the door behind himself and Evan. He turns around to see Evan almost falling asleep standing up in the middle of the room.   
“Dunno…”  
“Yeah, okay. This isn’t okay,” Connor decides. He begins rummaging through his pyjama drawer for a pair of pants for Evan to wear. They’re all too long and most likely too skinny. Evan’s thighs would not fit in them.   
Well, actually… that’s not exactly a bad thing.   
What the fuck? What does that even mean? Why did he think that?   
Connor shakes his head and chooses a pair that look like they’d fit Evan the best.   
He turns to Evan, holding the pair up. “Get changed. You’re not sleeping in fucking khaki pants,”  
“Thanks?” They stand there in silence. “Can you leave for a second?”  
“Shit, yeah,”  
Connor does as asked and stands in the hallway and waits.   
What the actual fuck did _that_ mean? Not exactly a bad thing? About Evan’s thighs not being able to fit into Connor’s pants? That isn’t a good thing. What would he sleep in? No one else has anything Evan could wear.   
Larry’s are all silk and fancy and _rich people clothes_. Cynthia’s are the exact same except a little smaller. Zoe’s are… no. Just, no. Connor can’t imagine what Evan would do, considering what he wrote and very obviously felt about Zoe. Ah, fuck, ew. No, Connor does _not_ want to think about that.   
The door swings open with a quick and quiet creak. Evan stands there in Connor’s pyjamas, which are just a little too long and, oh god, just a tad bit too tight around the upper thighs.   
“Okay, you’re good?”  
“Yeah. I think so,”  
That’s good. At least Evan is comfortable. Mostly. Mostly comfortable.   
Connor flips the duvet off his bed and gestures for Evan to get in. Evan shakes his head with a yawn.   
“You don’t have anywhere else to sleep,”  
“The floor,”  
“You aren’t sleeping on the floor. That motherfucker has seen some shit,”  
“Where’ll you sleep then?”  
“I can fit more than one person in this bed, trust me,”  
“So we're… gonna… share it?”  
Connor raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘what else were we gonna do?’ Evan sighs and slowly settles himself in the bed, getting as close to the wall as possible. Connor follows suit, facing Evan.   
“Why are you so tired? It’s only, like, ten,”  
Evan doesn’t dare open his eyes. “Jared doesn’t sleep,”  
“That shouldn’t stop you,”  
“Our moms said we can’t be asleep without the other. So-” Evan yawns, “-I’ve been forced to stay up until four in the morning for the last few days,”  
“Why doesn’t he just suck it up or something?”  
“I dunno…”  
Connor stares at the ceiling and picks at small buds of fabric on his duvet. Evan’s breathing slows down and his body lets loose.   
“Evan?”  
“Yeah?”  
Connor’s train of thought stops abruptly, “never mind. I forgot,” and he begins counting the stars again.   
“Okay… goodnight,”  
“‘Night,”  
Twenty five stars.   
He barely even processes it.   
Imagine how weird it would be if the actual universe had only five stars. It would be absolutely beautiful, Connor thinks, only a few twinkling every night. It would be so rare. Or, would it be? Society would be used to only twenty five stars in the sky every night.   
Yep, that’s a strange thought.   
Connor shakes his head and looks to the left of him, where Evan is curled up and already sound asleep, despite only being left alone for a couple minutes. He fully turns so he’s facing Evan, tilting his head up and then back down blindly, and slowly reaching out to feel Evan’s casted arm.   
His fingertips touch the hardened plaster, a touch that feels way too intimate no matter what. He pulls his arm away, holding it to his own chest.   
There’s a bizarre tightness in his lungs, that make him feel like he’s drowning, yet also floating above the surface blissfully.   
It’s familiar, but still foreign. Like there’s something not quite right about the situation.   
Connor thinks back to the last time he felt like this; like he’s drowning and floating simultaneously.   
Sophomore year. It was with some jock across the room that ended up transferring schools half way through the year.   
And then the first.   
When he was in seventh grade and watching Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part two, because Cynthia made him go regardless if he read the books or not, seeing Daniel Radcliffe all hot and sweaty.   
He feels like his heart stops as it slowly clicks.   
His stomach does a somersault.   
Blood rushes to his face and he flips over so he and Evan are facing the same direction.   
He has a crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot stretch out plotlines more than 2 chapters okay i try its just painful even for me  
> fucking comment and kudos you cowards


	15. Chapter Fifteen

The rain hitting the window is what wakes Connor.   
It’s a steady sound of… how to describe it? Horses running is the first thing to describe it that comes to Connor’s head. But, also a giant crowd clapping in almost perfect synchronization. Except it’s deep and not a giant crowd clapping in almost perfect synchronization. It’s rain hitting the window obnoxiously with as much force as possible.   
He tries to sit up, mostly to get a better look of the clock on his desk across the room. Cynthia thought it would be a good idea, putting his alarm across the room, so he would have to stand up and walk to turn it off in the morning. She must have forgotten that a) Connor is a heavy sleeper and b) he can just unplug the alarm. He finds he can’t sit up, though, due to a heavy arm thrown lazily across his waist. Light breathing can be felt on the back of his neck and his legs aren’t alone where they are.   
He slowly turns.   
Evan is laying there, still fast asleep, clinging to Connor.   
Connor almost screams. In embarrassment or otherwise is a complete mystery, he just wants to fucking scream.   
He covers his mouth. His stomach does a few somersaults and his head fills and empties at the same time. What the fuck is happening? Right after Connor realised he might have a crush on Evan? Evan decides to start cuddling him and look fucking adorable doing it?  
With wide eyes and a burning face, Connor decides to bask in the contact. It might be the only time this’ll happen, Evan might wake up and panic and apologize and promise to never do it again. That’s something Connor for sure doesn’t want happening. It’s actually quite nice; he finds he likes it more and more every second.   
And you know those people that you seriously cannot stand whatsoever that think it’s necessary to ruin every single good moment of your life?  
Kleinman opens the door.   
Not quickly, no, no, he takes as long as humanly possible and makes the door creak as loud as he can make it. Connor, not knowing what else to do, pretends to still be asleep. Kleinman doesn’t take long to step in and turn on the light, letting out an excited scream when he sees Connor and Evan.   
“Holy shit!” Kleinman shouts. He gasps and Connor can feel him getting closer. “Hey,” he whispers in Connor’s ear, “Hey, guess what. That’s really gay, holy shit,”  
Connor mumbles and pretends to be just waking up, not sitting up straight, though, simply for the reason of taking advantage of sleeping Evan.   
“What the fuck…?”  
“You useless fucking homosexual… holy shit,”  
Kleinman backs up into the middle of the room and begins laughing _almost_ silently. He gasps in the laughter a couple times, snorts here and there. Connor turns around to look at Evan, gasping as if to sound surprised.   
“Oh my god,” Connor mutters and pushes Evan’s arm off his waist, inching away in fake confusion, “What…?”  
He looks up at Kleinman, of whom is standing in the middle of the room grinning. Connor glares.   
“The fuck is wrong with you?”  
“I mean,” Kleinman shrugs, “I’m not the one cuddling with my _no homo_ buddy as we sleep in the same bed together- oh my god! Is he wearing your fucking pants?”  
Connor sighs and glares at Kleinman again, nonverbally telling him to leave the fucking room. Kleinman raises his hands as if to say ‘you win,’ and leaves, closing the door so it’s open still just a crack. He presses his lips as close as humanly possible to the door and begins whispering the word ‘gay’ over and over again.   
“Evan, come on,” Connor shakes Evan’s upper arm. Evan stirs and mumbles something. “Time to get up,”  
“No…” is the only word of a whole sentence Evan says that Connor understands. Evan digs his head into Connor’s pillow.   
“You don’t have a choice, get up,”  
Connor debates whispering something specifically to Evan, something that Evan will most likely not like and Connor will regret, so he doesn’t. He just flips Evan over and begins smacking his stomach lightly.   
“Wakey, wakey,” he mumbles. Evan smiles in amusement and opens his eyes just a crack to look at Connor.   
“I’m up,”  
“Holy shit that’s fucking gay!” Jared all but yells from the hallway. He leaves down the stairs laughing way too loudly for one person.   
Evan’s eyes widen and he sits up, hunching over and staring at his knees. Connor stands, making his way over to the door and apologising quietly.   
“No, no, it’s, uh, it’s fine,” Evan lets out a breath and follows Connor, rubbing his wrist lightly. Neither say a thing the entire way down the stairs.   
Connor stops at the last step and listens into the dining room, where everyone, excluding Larry, is already talking.   
“Pass the butter-?”  
“Here you go-“  
“We’re almost out of milk-!”  
“Um, Jared, is it?”  
“‘Tis,”  
“I feel weird asking this but, what were you referring to upstairs?”  
Connors heart skips a beat. He turns around to Evan, who is in a state of slight panic. Not too much to be concerning, but Connor can still tell he’s a little more panicked than he should be. Connor sighs and finds his way into the dining room, where Kleinman is sitting and looking at Cynthia like a deer in headlights. His gaze turns from her to Connor, and back to her, then quickly makes a decision to save his friend’s ass.   
“I’m just- I was looking at Instagram, and a picture showed up of two celebrities. The caption said they were just friends but, uh, I dunno, I could tell they weren’t, if that makes any sense?”  
Zoe chokes on her toast. Alana’s gapes. It’s obvious neither of them think the lie will work. And yet- it does! Cynthia nods and smiles.   
“Well, that’s nice. How could you tell they were- um- that?”  
Connor rolls his eyes at Cynthia not wanting to say the word ‘gay.’   
It’s funny, really. She knows the word exists, and there’s really no reason not to say it; it’s just a string of sounds, after all. She just refuses to say it. It’s been like that for as long as Connor can remember, he didn’t even know about the word until he was fourteen and one of Zoe’s friends used it as an insult. Zoe asked what it meant and, just like that, Connor knew yet one more thing about himself.   
“Well, I don’t think anyone here will understand-” with Kleinman’s statement, Zoe raises her eyebrows as if to say ‘as if,’ “but there’s this thing some gay people have, where we can tell when other people are gay. Some of us call it a _gaydar_ ,”  
Connor wishes he could fucking die right now. And he’s pretty sure he is about to. His face is bright red and he’s choking back a scream of laugher. Evan enters the room and sits next to Connor too casually for the situation.   
“ _Us_? I’m sorry to ask but-”  
“Extremely,”   
Cynthia nods. She gives Connor a look. It’s a look of concern and something else Connor can’t quite explain.   
She doesn’t think he and Kleinman are- god, he doesn’t even want to think about that.   
“Okay, that’s… that’s cool,” Cynthia mutters, her voice shaky and unsure.   
Zoe rolls her eyes. “Gay people exist, mom,”  
Cynthia nods, as if she’s agreeing. No one says anything for the rest of the morning. 

Connor finds Evan more and more adorable the more time they spend together.   
He’s way too polite to Cynthia, doesn’t contribute much to conversations but still stays in the room, blushes beetroot red every time someone says something to him, squints to focus on a few things in every room, spaces out staring at the wall.   
So when he, Kleinman, and Alana climb into Alana’s car and drive away from the Murphy’s, Connor can’t help but feel sort of sad. _Sort of_ due to the fact that Kleinman’s finally leaving.   
He suddenly turns back into what he was like the day previous before Evan arrived. He locks himself in his room and stares at his desk, a pile of books he got and read years ago taunting him in his peripheral.   
Just as he’s about to reach over and grab _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ , which Cynthia got him for Christmas a few years ago, someone knocks quietly at his door. Connor opens it, despite really not being in the mood.   
“What?”  
“Back to square one, I see,” Zoe mutters but enters anyway. “So… you and Evan?”  
His heart skips a beat. Zoe sits on the edge of his bed while he resumes his position in his desk chair, this time facing his sister. It’s still weird to him that they’re getting along so well they can chill out together like this.   
“What about us?”  
“Look,” she takes a deep breath as if she’s preparing herself for failure, “I get it, things take time to work out and build to, but other things don’t. For example, Alana and I, we only knew each other and figured out the numbers for nine days before we began dating,”  
“What does this have to do with me and Evan?”  
“You guys have known each other for a month, I have pictures of you guys cuddling this morning, I’m just saying that if you guys tried out dating, I think it would go well, plus the fact that I think the universe thinks so as well,”  
Connor chews the inside of his cheek to push down the urge to yell at her for this fucking nonsense.   
“We’ve established that we’re just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. The numbers just mean we get along better with each other than anyone else.” And then he flat out lies by saying: “We don’t even feel that way about each other,”  
“Connor,”  
“Yeah?”  
“I saw how you looked at him this morning. No one looks at their best friend all doe-eyed and, forgive me for this, like they’re in love,”  
“He’s not my best friend-”  
“- _I beg to differ_ -”  
“And I don’t look at him any different than I look at Alana. I’m not _in love_ with him,”  
“Okay,” Zoe sighs and picks her nails, “but I can tell you have a crush on him, even if it’s just small. I’d say tell him before it gets bad,”  
Connor looks at her like she’s crazy, and yet he still blushes furiously. “I’d recommend getting out of my room before I pull off your head like a Barbie doll,”  
“I still haven’t forgiven you about those,” she stands and leaves the room.   
“And I won’t apologize, they were fucking annoying!”   
He closes the door behind her and stares at the white painted wood.   
God, she’s totally right.   
He should tell Evan. He really should.   
But how do you bring that up in casual conversation? ‘Hey I like you and really wouldn’t mind if you kissed me. Actually, I would like it, nay, love it.’ Yeah, that would not go down well. Should he just text him? No, that’s too middle school. It has to be face to face.   
God, why is this so stressful?  
Maybe he could get Zoe to do it. She even noticed his crush. Oh no, that’s not a good idea. Why did he even think of that?  
Actually, it might be a short term crush, you know? A couple weeks, maybe even days. Those crushes happen all the time, right? They happen to people over the age of thirteen, right? Yeah, that’s probably what happening. He just… god, he hates this. It’s absolute torture; trying to figure everything out.   
He sighs and blindly begins reading one of the books, reading the words but not processing them at all, completely distracted by his own thoughts. There’s a bit of Evan, a bit of Zoe, a bit of himself trying to focus on the book. He finds its mostly Evan, much to his dismay. He really doesn’t want to admit it, but this crush will definitely last longer than a few weeks. So, figuring out what to do about it is fucking horrifying.   
So far, the plan is to do nothing about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao i keep getting comments like ‘you write these characters so well’ and i’m like,,,,,, bro,,,,,,,, i literally have depression anxiety and bpd,,,,,,,,,,, of course i do,,,,,,,,, i know what it’s like,,,,,,, bro  
> not sure if i like this chapter either hm but idk jared is a whole ass mood i’m allowed to say that i wrote him fuck you


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot it was saturday and almost didnt update and then so big/so small came on and i remembered?????

The plan does _not_ go well.   
For the next twenty-one hours, Connor’s brain refuses to let him think about anything but his crush on Evan and how he’s going to tell him and all that jazz. It’s horrible waking up and immediately being plagued with stressing about something that really shouldn’t be stressful. And, yet, it is.   
He hid away a bunch of things he didn’t think he’d need in a box on the top shelf of his closet, hopefully never to be seen again. They’re all really just nicknacks and things that really don’t hold much sentimental value, but are still cool or important in some way, shape, of form.   
One of those things included is his tin of weed.   
And god, it’s tempting to dig through the box and find it. In times like this, Connor feels like he needs it. Just to get his mind off things. And so he does.   
He digs around through a couple old shirts and books from kindergarten before finding it with too much excitement. The feeling it gives him is that of a little kid opening gifts on Christmas. He’s ashamed to be feeling it.   
It’s stopped raining, at least not too hard. It’s still dripping a little bit, and it’s gotten a little colder as they near winter dangerously. Connor just sits in the backyard under the umbrella on the deck Cynthia set up for guests over the summer. It hasn’t been in much use since she got it, other than decoration, and now.   
He stares out at the large back yard and feels his muscles loosen up a bit as the pot begins to kick in. It seriously feels great to do this again after so long of avoiding it like the plague.   
A short vibration comes from his pocket.   
He pulls it out quickly, sighing out a large puff of grey smoke that enters the clean-ish city air in an instant. A text from Evan sits on the screen.   
_[evan] now  
Hey, I’m bored. Do you want to go to the orchard or something?_  
Connor sighs, though it sounds a bit like a groan. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but he doesn’t want to. On one hand, he doesn’t want to see Evan and somehow fuck everything up, and on the other, he does want to see Evan and not fuck everything up. It’s a tough decision.   
_sure. kleinman isn’t allowed in my car btw. i’ll be there in like 20 mins  
[evan] now  
Yep. I’ll just tell him I’m going out. He will probably find something to do. _  
He finishes the joint before flicking it off onto the deck, really not sure what else to do with it. 

Evan is already outside waiting for him.   
It’s almost as if he’s taking advantage of this alright weather. It’s reasonable, considering how much it’s been raining recently. It usually isn’t like this in passed years, usually completely dry. Evan still shields his cast, though. Who knows what can happen.   
“Hi,” Evan says and enters the car. He squints at Connor, “you smell weird,”  
“Today has been good, thanks for asking,”  
He knows this was going to happen.   
The smell of weed isn’t something that goes away or can be covered up easily.   
“Connor, have you been smoking?”  
“What if I have?”  
Evan deflates. “I just- I don’t think you have in a while. And- and it seemed like you weren’t in a good place when you did it actively and I don’t want you going back to that bad place because I like being friends with you and, I dunno, I guess you would start to… go away from me and think I don’t want to be your friend if you were back in a bad place which isn’t that ideal and-”  
“Okay, I get it,” Connor shushes him. “Look, it’s a one time thing. I just needed to get a few things off my mind for a couple hours,”  
“… like what?”  
Connor pauses and looks around, “I’ll tell you when we get there,” and begins driving.   
Evan reasonably looks absolutely panicked the entire way there. They were always told not to drive under the influence of _anything_ growing up, so with Connor high and taking sharp turns and speeding through the back roads and main roads alike, he doesn’t feel safe. Connor isn’t very high, though. It’s not like he’s on a Snoop Dog level high, though that would be great, he’s just… there’s not really any example. He’s fine to be driving.   
The dirt road to the orchard is the problem. It’s still basically a strip of mud and rocks, so any sudden swerve would send them right into one of the ditches on either side. This doesn’t bother Connor a bit. Rather, its a little comforting.   
He takes a sharp turn onto the orchard parking lot and parks as close to the hut as possible with a sudden lurch of the car.   
Evan begins getting out of the car, but stops at Connor’s lack of movement.   
Connor just stares forward at the cluster of trees lining the parking lot. If you can even call it that.   
“Are you gonna tell me why… why you got, uh, high?”   
“Heh, that rhymed,” Connor mutters, the corners of his lips tugging up slightly. “But, yeah, I guess so. Where do you want me to start?”  
“Where ever you want to,”  
“Alright, so. Last month was really… weird. It’s been messing me up y’know? The thing that really stands out is, like, Zoe. If that makes any fucking sense. Less than a month ago we were still screaming that we were gonna kill each other, and now, well, she’s giving me dating advice completely out of the blue. And, sure, it’s nice not to want to murder her every second of every day, but it feels like she’s ignoring those five fucking years of hell I put her through.   
“Here’s the thing, I wanna do the same thing with mom and Larry and shit, ‘fixing’ our relationships. But mom still treats me like a little kid most of the time and Larry has given up on me so much he probably won’t even give me a chance. If they could just see that I’m not seven and I’m trying to get better, then maybe I could be comfortable enough around them to finally fucking tell them I’m a raging homosexual. I mean, even Jared told mom he’s gay and he just met her. I’ve known her for almost eighteen years and I’m still such a huge pussy that I can’t tell her. Not to mention Larry would probably kill me if he knew I liked kissing boys,  
“God, they’d think Jared and I were dating if I told them I’m gay. Do you realise that? No, mom, I can’t fucking stand the dude. Well, he can be kind of funny sometimes, but other than that… unbearable,”  
Evan stays silent.   
Connor, without saying another thing, gets out of the car and enters the back seat, stretching out his legs just a little bit and reclining as far as possible to stare at the roof.   
“I’m ready to tell them, too, y’know,” Connor continues as if his stressing about Kleinman never happened, his eyes closed calmly. Evan doesn’t move an inch, but just stares at Connor. “I’m just not sure how to. I can’t think of a single good way, honestly. I didn’t even mean to tell Zoe; it was just ‘cause she found out you and I were paired together by the magical grand scheme of the universe and I was sort of forced into a corner. You were there when I told you, so I don’t have to recap what happened there, but how do I tell my two white middle aged Christian parents that I’m gay? That’s just it, I don’t.   
“I have to at some point, though, right?”  
Connor finishes, eyes still closed and his mind not really anywhere. He hears the door open and close, then once again but this time closer to him. He opens one eye and looks to his right to see Evan sitting there, clearly uncomfortable, and staring at him.   
“Maybe if I come out to them I’ll know what the fuck is up with us,” Connor gestures between himself and Evan, “is that what’s holding me back or some other gross cliché shit like that? _Oh, my life is so bad because I have friends that I’m pretty sure like me and am out to most of the people that matter but the soulmate thing is fucking me up just like everyone else. I’m so tired, this is keeping me up at night_. God, that’s stupid. It’s not fucking keeping me up at night, by the way.” Connor sits up and slides over only a few inches toward Evan. “Just thought you should know that,”  
“Well…” Evan focuses on his thumbs. “That’s a lot to take in,”  
Evan looks back up at Connor, who is humming a tune to some cartoon and staring off into space.   
If Connor were sober, his stomach would be doing flips and he would feel like he’s going throw up as he slowly lowers his head onto Evan’s shoulder, but he’s not, so it feels like the most normal and casual thing in the world.   
He can hear Evan’s heartrate increase at the action. Just to play, Connor places a hand on Evan’s thigh and squeezes it to get attention. It works, so Evan turns to Connor with wide eyes. Connor smirks and begins leaning toward Evan, not really sure if he’s serious or just teasing. It gets a flustered mess of a reaction from Evan, the exact reaction Connor was going for, so he guesses it’s fine regardless.   
They’re only an inch or two away from kissing before Evan abruptly ends it and pulls away, Connors stomach dropping.   
“We should probably, uh, probably head out now. Those trees aren’t going to give themselves attention, right?” Evan laughs awkwardly.   
Connor sighs and nods in agreement. They get out of the vehicle and begin their short walk to the broken down café, which is still darker than ideal, but they can’t complain. It’s not like it’s a bright and sunny summer day, it’s a gloomy meet between autumn and winter.   
Evan leads most of the way.   
In the café, they just sit and talk, neither talking about what almost just happened. Evan out of embarrassment, Connor out of his high. That’s the one thing sober Connor doesn’t like about not-sober, high or drunk it doesn’t matter, Connor. He doesn’t process things properly. If Zoe were to tell him she were pregnant, for example, Connor can see not-sober himself shrugging and saying ‘cool’ and go back to playing solitaire in his head. However, if she were to tell sober Connor she was pregnant, his first reaction would definitely be ‘shit, how’d Alana manage to do that?’  
Connor laughs.   
And then his phone buzzes.   
He takes it out of his pocket excruciatingly slowly and stares at the text, but not really reading it.   
“What is it?” Evan asks.   
Connor is sort of forced to read it now, just to answer Evan’s question.   
_[zoe] 1 minute ago  
Alana Jared and I are going for lunch at Alanas uncles restaurant. You and Evan wanna meet us there? Im sending directions anyway_  
“Wanna meet everyone for lunch?”  
Evan blinks and slowly nods, not completely sure of his answer. After a second or two, his nod becomes confident and sure that, yes, he wants to meet them for lunch.   
Connor stands and leads the way to the car again. As they begin driving once again, after only fifteen or so minutes of not doing so, Connor’s high begins to wear off. _How convenient_ , he can’t help but thinking. Zoe and Alana would most definitely beat his ass if they found out, and Kleinman would probably make endless jokes.   
Zoe keeps her promise and sends directions to the little restaurant Alana’s uncle owns. It’s just slightly out of town, actually on their way back in from the orchard, so it takes roughly five minutes to pull up beside Alana’s car and enter the building.   
The three are already waiting at a table, two seats open between Kleinman and Zoe for Evan and Connor to occupy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boring chapters? you bet your ass that’s the only thing i know how to write. but hey jk rowling is the same way but she’s still a billionaire


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Alana is the first to spot the pair as they enter the restaurant.   
It’s nice, definitely worked on with a lot of money put into it, but you can also tell it’s a local business run by a local man. There’s only a few tables scattered through the place, which is honestly reasonable; the place is really small if you don’t count the back kitchen, and even then, Connor’s pretty sure the kitchen is about half the size of the dining area.   
He can’t judge. There’s nothing wrong with it at all.   
“Hello! You guys got here fast,” Alana greets and ushers them over, pointing at the seats between Zoe and Jared. It’s no secret where each of them will sit.   
Connor still doesn’t want Evan sitting next to Zoe. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Evan around her yet, but at the same time, he also said all his hope was pinned on her this year, so… there’s really no telling.   
And Connor doesn’t want to be near Kleinman in general.   
And what a mistake that is.   
Zoe immediately scrunches up her nose as he sits down, staring at him accusingly.   
“Have you been smoking again?” She asks in a whisper.   
Connor shrugs in reply , nonverbally saying ‘maybe, you take a wild guess,’ and turns to the table. A young male around their age stands between Kleinman and Alana with a notepad and black apron tied around his waist.   
He’s a fucking waiter, there’s no question, why does he need an apron? It’s not like he’s going into the kitchen any time soon. And even if he does it’s not going to be more than two minutes.   
“Why are you wearing an apron?”  
The waiter catches Connor’s eye. Connor intensifies the eye contact, causing the waiter to look down uncomfortably and Evan to kick Connor’s ankle under the table.   
“You gonna answer my question or stand there like a deer in headlights?”  
“-Connor,” Evan hisses as the waiter answers:  
“Oh- um, I honestly don’t know. I’m just required to wear it. In case I spill food, I guess?”  
“That’s boring as hell,”  
Connor leans back in his seat and begins bouncing his leg as the waiter takes everyone’s order.   
This is the part of his high that’s the least enjoyable. He’s irritable and impatient and impulsive and rude and- oh, what’s another word for rude that begins with an _I_? Forget it. This part of his high is what Connor describes as ‘Connor 2.0.’ He’s exactly the same except all the I’s listed above are heightened to an unacceptable level.   
It’s sort of unbearable.   
Evan hunches over the table and listens to the conversation going on around him. Connor can’t help but notice small details as his eyes force him to stare.   
There’s a stray piece of hair that sticks out at the back of his head. His nails are uneven from chewing them constantly. His shirt is a strange pattern with its 1, 1, 1, 2, 1, 1, 1, 2 stripe rule. There are little creases here and there, mostly around the collar, from where Evan didn’t get as intense as other places when ironing it. His cheeks are flushed pink- though that’s all the time. His eyes are wide as he looks at other people, but he squints when looking around the room. He runs his thumb along a small crease in his cast, right at the top point of the second N in Connor’s name.   
Evan turns around abruptly.   
Connor’s stomach drops and his ears heat up in embarrassment.   
“Wh- huh? Is something wrong?” Evan asks, his voice only concern.   
“Nothing. Just lost in thought,” Connor mutters and leans forward to listen in on the conversation.   
He’s never experienced a real crush before. At least not one this fucking bad so early on.   
Maybe Zoe is right. Maybe he should tell Evan before it’s too bad. But, then again, how is he supposed to? There’s absolutely no good way of doing it, at least as far as Connor has thought.   
And, how would Evan react? Connor seriously does not want to tell him if he reacts badly. How to tell if he’ll react badly, though. There’s also the chance that he’ll be fine with it, that everything will go back to normal except… everything would be awkward. Or amazing. There’s really no telling.   
“So. What were you guys doing?” Alana asks as the conversation slows down. It catches Connor off guard as Zoe pokes him to get his attention.   
“Oh- just… stuff. Y’know,” Connor shrugs and stares down just above where his forearms sit on the table. The tablecloth is an extremely specific purple-ish red colour that Connor has definitely seen before, he just doesn’t know when and where.   
“ _Stuff_ ,” Kleinman teases with a wide grin, “that’s codeword for kinky sex in the backseat of that there car,”  
Evan chokes on his water and Connor turns his head toward Kleinman so fast he’s surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.   
“So, tell me, how was it?” Kleinman leans forward, chin in hand. “Is Evan good? I bet he’s-”  
“Please shut up,” Zoe mutters.   
“That’s not- we don’t- uh, um, we weren’t doing that,” Evan says at the same time, blinking every millisecond with his face bright red. “Sorry,” he stands, “I’m just gonna, um, gonna go to the bathroom. If anyone needs me- I’ll be, um, in the… yeah,”  
And he rushes off.   
Connor glares at Kleinman. He feels like throwing up as he watches Evan wander around for the door to the men’s room.   
“What the fuck?” Connor asks.   
Kleinman shrugs. “Just wondering,”  
“That’s wasn’t wondering. That was a _wildly_ false guess, accusation, assumption, whatever you call it. Was it really necessary?”  
“I’ve seen enough straight people romance movies to know what _stuff_ means between two people in private,” Kleinman shrugs again.   
“Straight people don’t know shit, then.” Connor looks up and around the room for Evan. He doesn’t find him, to a relief. He found the bathroom. “Besides, I’m not a straight people, Evan might not be a straight people, so that argument is absolute bullshit,”  
Connor stands and walks to the last place he saw Evan. The men’s room door stands right there. With one last glare at Kleinman, seeing Alana chugging a cup of coffee in the process, he enters the bathroom and hears someone counting quietly.   
“What the fuck, am I right?” Connor says, knocking on the stall the counting is coming from.   
The counting stops.   
The door opens slowly.   
Evan stands there staring at Connor.   
“Sorry. About him, I mean,”  
“Why are you apologizing for him?” Connor steps out of the way for Evan to pass and wash his face in the way-too-clean sink.   
“I dunno.”  
Connor sits on the counter and watches Evan wash his hand and face. God, a broken arm must be fucking terrible. Can’t even really wash yourself properly. It must be even worse considering it’s been raining for the last month. Ah well, the weathers been getting better.   
“When’s your cast off?” Connor tilts his head and focuses on Evan’s left arm. It’s not a conscious descision. His brain just says ‘if you look at him you’ll kiss him and you don’t want that.’ Connor can’t argue with that logic.   
“Uh, next week I think. Nine days,”   
“Ah,”  
Evan dries his hand and Connor gets off the counter. He nonverbally asks Evan if he’s okay. Evan nods.  
They leave the bathroom, Connor’s hand on Evan’s shoulder the entire way back to the table.   
“Fin-”  
“Don’t even start,” Connor hisses at Kleinman before anything else happens. 

Evan’s phone buzzes from its place on the coffee table and lights up the room. Though, the room itself isn’t too dark. It’s really just the immediate area and ceiling directly above the phone.   
Evan pauses the documentary he chose to watch before bed and debates picking up the phone or not. Who’s texting him at this time of night? Anyone who could be texting him now should either be at work or settling down for the night, not asking him to hang out.   
Ah, if they’re contacting him this late it must be important. He hovers over the small device and reads what it says:  
 _[Zoe] now  
Hey just got home from Alanas and Connors drunk beyond even pretending to be sober. Our parents would kill us if they realized. Coming over and dropping him off. You dont have a choice_  
He turns off the device and looks out the window. It’s almost pitch black, with the exception of a few stars and the moon lighting things up. He was planning to go to sleep in half an hour! Now Connor’s coming over, what sounds like, almost shitfaced.  
No, it’s probably not _that_ bad, considering Zoe most likely got him into their car. Oh no, they’re on their way now. He has to get ready. What are drunk people like? Evan’s only ever been around his mom when she was drunk on Christmas when he was thirteen, and she wasn’t even that bad. She only had a few glasses of wine. Granted, her mom still had to drive them home, but Heidi was still good enough to wish Evan a goodnight’s sleep.   
That was the only time.   
Well, that and meeting drunk strangers on the street asking for change. Those encounters are awkward. Evan usually panics and gives them the ten dollar bill he was going to use for food. He hasn’t told Heidi that he’s lost almost fifty dollars because of that.   
Okay, no, focus. Connor needs water and probably some painkillers for his inevitable hangover tomorrow morning. Shit, tomorrow’s Monday. Will they have to miss school? Connor definitely will to take care of himself, but will Evan have to? No, he’ll just go in as soon as he can. He’ll probably be late, but that’s fine if he’s helping tend to his hungover- friend.   
Just as Evan places a large glass of water and a couple Advil tablets on the side table next to the couch, a pair of headlights find its way into his driveway and muffled whisper-shouting is heard. He rushes to the front door and swings it open, suddenly all too aware of his pyjama pants, met with the view of Zoe trying to tug a whining Connor out of their car.   
Connor gasps when he sees Evan and stumbles out of the vehicle, trying to push Zoe aside but being held back by his wrist.   
“But it’s Evan!” Connor complains, his voice high and whiny, and gestures no where near Evan.   
“Yes- I know. That’s why we’re here. You’re gonna have a sleepover with him tonight, okay?” Zoe mutters like she’s talking to a toddler.   
Connor looks back at Evan and fist pumps, way too excited. He falls onto Evan’s shoulder and Zoe lets go of him in the foyer.   
“Okay, sorry about this, but our parents would actually have our heads if they care home to,” Zoe looks at Connor, who is petting Evan’s hair like a dog, “that,”  
“No, it’s, uh, it’s fine. Really,”  
Zoe nods and goes over a few things before leaving the house in a rush and text from Cynthia that they’ll be back in about 45 minutes. She speeds away from the Hansen’s, Connor now running his fingers through Evan’s hair.   
“Okay, thank you very much,” Evan mutters and pulls Connor’s hand away from his head, “you smell _awful_ , oh my god,”  
“Must be all the dick I’m sucking,” Connor slurs and bites his lip over exaggeratingly. Evan feels himself turn bright red regardless.   
“No, it’s the achohol and drugs,” Evan says. “I’ll get you a clean set of clothes okay? I’ll run a shower for you and put your clothes in the washer so they’re good in the morning,”  
“Oh, a shower, hey? What’re you gonna do? Fu-”  
“ _And then_ , you’ll sleep on the couch because the floor isn’t comfortable and I don’t want my bed smelling like alcohol. Mom wouldn’t be happy about that,”  
Connor hums happily and reaches back up to run his fingers through Evan’s hair again, “soft…” he whispers, then looks down at Evan, “you’re fucking cute, you know that? And hot. How is that possible? You’re hot and cute at the same time. You’re hute. Or cot. No, hute is better. One letter away from huge, you know. I sure fucking hope so,”  
Evan feels himself blushing like a madman, and with Connor this close it doesn’t help. His heart is racing, he’s not quite sure what to do with his hands, and the feeling of Connor running his hands though his hair is something he can seriously get used to. But this is all because Connor’s drunk. They wouldn’t be like this if Connor hadn’t thought that was a good idea.   
Right?  
Evan looks away and pulls Connor into the living room.   
“Sit down,” he orders, but sits Connor down himself, “stay here. Please. I’ll be back in a minute or two,”  
Evan waits for an understanding nod from Connor before nodding himself and turning around to leave the room.   
Except he doesn’t leave the room.   
There’s a warm hand on his wrist, stopping him from leaving, and he’s being swung around and pulled down.   
And suddenly lips are against his and the scent of alcohol is the only thing he smells and his eyes are wide open as he stares at Connor’s closed eyelids and he can taste the smallest hint of alcohol on cracked lips as Connor kisses him. Evan gasps, though it’s only in his throat, because otherwise would give Connor the wrong signals and that isn’t what he wants. At all. Never.   
He wants to pull away, but his body physically won’t let him. He forces himself away from Connor’s grinning face and stands up straight, takes in a deep breath, and leaves the room with a quiet apology. All while Connor is still sitting there grinning like he just won gold metal in all areas of the Olympics.   
What just happened?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drunk connor=endless opportunities for me to make dick and sex jokes


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Waking up to the sound of rain is honestly nothing new to Connor at this point.   
But usually the rain wakes him up and he’s in his own bed in a dark room and his family already up and ready to go.   
Not on the couch of Evan’s living room with a pounding headache and on-and-off nausea.   
Connor begins leaning up, readying his elbows to prop himself up, but becomes dizzy before he can do so, so he falls back down and screws his eyes shut.   
“Fuck…” he mutters and almost gags but manages to hold it back.   
And through the archway appears Evan, approaching slowly and awkwardly with a large metal bowl in his arms.   
“What’s that for?”  
“Um, if— if you have to, uh, throw up and can’t, y’know, make it to the bathroom on time,” Evan explains, getting quieter with every word and eventually becomes nearly inaudible by the last one, “so, yeah. Uh, there’s water and Advil on the table if you, um, need it?”  
Connor nods and looks in the direction Evan points, to see a large glass of water and two little white pills, just like Evan said.   
“The water might be warm now, though, I can refill it if you want it cold, if you want!”  
Connor shakes his head and looks back up at Evan. “No. Room temperature water is better for shit like,” he gestures vaguely toward himself, “this.”  
They stay silent, Evan standing and staring into the bowl with intense concentration and Connor at Evan. Neither make a move to do anything, until Evan asks why Connor isn’t taking the painkillers and if he wants a shower instead.   
“Sure… Yeah. I probably stink,” he looks up at Evan. Evan laughs uncomfortably with a nod under Connor gaze.   
Connor stands, taking a few seconds to find his balance and control his dizziness. He finds it quickly and looks up to laugh with Evan, only seeing an empty space where his friend was only a few seconds ago.   
The shower starts in the next room.   
Connor takes it upon himself to slowly make his way to the bathroom, hissing in pain at every significant movement of his head. Maybe he should’ve taken those painkillers.   
Evan avoids all eye contact the entire morning. 

_[zoe] now  
Connor Im on my way to pick you up ok. Im not waiting you better be fucking ready by the time I get there. Im like 10 mins away_

Zoe barely waits for Connor to be fully in the car before speeding away down the street.   
It doesn’t bother him much, he’s done the same to her countless times, but he can’t even say goodbye to Evan. That really sucks.   
Actually, would Evan even say anything? He has been acting awkward and distant this morning. Or, more so than usual. It’s just… did Drunk Connor say something Sober Connor would not approve of that made Evan uncomfortable? Does Evan think Sober Connor would say the same things as Drunk Connor? Because, if that’s the case, Evan really needs to rethink that.   
Connor slowly looks over to Zoe as she just about runs a red light. Her eyes are focused too hard on the road and her hands are way too tight on the wheel, but at the same time, she has this sort of pity ridden look about her.   
Connor doesn’t want to ask what’s wrong.   
“May I ask what’s wrong?”  
Zoe clicks her tongue and sighs. “I, uh, I don’t think you’d like to know? You’ll know when we get back to the house.” And then adds after a few seconds, “be ready for anything. Like, anything,”  
And so Connor spends the rest of the almost half hour drive preparing himself for anything that could be coming his way.   
The problem is, he can’t think of anything that it could be. His mind is blank and still pounding. The shadows of trees in the bright morning sun cause flashes of light to the car, which does not help his headache in the slightest.   
The car comes to a slow stop in the driveway. Zoe doesn’t get out immediately, like she usually does. Instead, she sits and stares at the garage door in silence with her brother.   
“You prepared for anything?”  
There’s nothing but seriousness in her voice, no matter how hard Connor looks.   
“I think so,”  
Zoe nods once and heads inside. Though she stops right before taking the first step up to the porch to wait for Connor, despite how hard the rain is currently coming down. He joins her side and leads the way inside.   
Larry and Cynthia are sitting at the table in complete silence.  
They have a piece of blank paper between them.   
“Ahem,” Zoe fake coughs from her spot beside Connor in the archway, effectively catching their parents’ attention, “I believe you wanted to talk to him,”  
Cynthia nods with a small painful smile meanwhile Larry just stares at him, deadpan. Zoe punches his arm and leaves up the stairs as a sign of ‘good luck,’ and Cynthia invites him to sit across from them at the table.   
“Sweetie,” she says in an overly sweet voice, “before anything else, we would like to say we love you very, very much and that you’re still our son and we would be absolutely devastated if anything happened to you. Got it?”  
“… yeah,”  
“Okay. Good.” She attempts to place a comforting hand on Connors forearm. He flinches away. “Your, um, your father found something… peculiar in the medicine cabinet this morning.” She slides the paper over to Connor.   
He picks it up slowly, heart racing, and looks at each of his parents respectively with a look of utter confusion.   
Oh, fuck.   
Oh, fucking fuck shit.   
On the paper, in one of Zoe’s rainbow sparkly pens, reads ‘i’m GAY -coNNor’ in writing like a three-year-olds.   
His heart stops racing and his palms feel uncomfortably sweaty and his face feels pale. He can’t take his eyes off the paper, though he can feel both his parents eyes trying to urge him to look up.   
“And, it’s fine, honey, okay? If it is true, that is. However, we would like to hear it from you. Is it true, or did you write it as a joke?”  
Connor’s breath hitches in his throat as he looks back up to his parents. Larry is looking at him with nothing but disappointment in his eyes, and Cynthia with forced and difficult acceptance in hers.   
He takes a deep breath in, out, sits up straight, and nods. “Yes. I am. Gay. I’m gay,”  
Larry looks like he’s about to burst. Cynthia just leans back in her chair with a smile that says ‘I really wanted it to be a joke. It’s not fine.’   
“Is this how you planned on telling us?” Cynthia whispers after a minute or two.   
“No.”  
“Were you planning on telling us?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“And you’re completely sure?”  
“I mean, considering my soulmate is another male, I’m pretty fucking sure,”  
Connor doesn’t realise what he’s says until Cynthia’s face drops and lifts back up again in pure joy. She looks like she’s going to actually squeal.   
“You—oh my goodness, sweetie, that’s amazing! Who is it? If you want to tell us, er, me, obviously,”  
“No. I’m not going to tell you because you won’t let me see him ever again,”  
With that, Larry refrains from slamming his fists on the table and leaves with a giant huff. The other two watch as he leaves, neither not quite sure what to think of it.   
“It takes time—”  
“Yeah, whatever. Zoe’s gonna be late,”  
“Aren’t you worried about yourself being late?”  
“Not much,” he says, just reminding himself just a little too much of Jim from The Office, and stands. Zoe is making her way downstairs   
Connor leaves without a word meanwhile Zoe says her daily goodbyes to Cynthia. It’s like the beginning of the year again, but this time his entire family knows he’s gay.   
It’s awkward, honestly. He always knew Cynthia would ask him every single question that came to her mind, he just thought there would be a little preparation on his part. But, no, instead he has to get drunk because of the guy Cynthia wouldn’t let him see anymore if she knew they’re soulmates, and fucking out himself. He’s not sure if he was completely ready either, but no turning back now.   
It’s even worse knowing Larry’s reaction will be double what happened today when Zoe tells them.   
Connor somehow gets in the driver's seat. Zoe nods and gets in the opposite.   
“You wanna pick up Evan?”  
“It’s a long drive,”  
“I’ll take that as a no, then?”  
Connor shrugs and readjusts his hands on the wheel. He glances down at them. It’s become a tradition to hold it so tight your knuckles turn white, it seems.   
“I don’t know.”  
Connor doesn’t turn the direction of Evan’s house when he has the opportunity, so that’s a no.   
Zoe sits and almost actually twiddles her thumbs. She’s actually sitting there and quietly picking at her sparkly nail polish. She’s learned how loud nail polish picking can get, and on Connor’s bad days, that can be the last straw until he’s slamming on her door and screaming that he’s going to kill her.   
“Are you alright? That was pretty brutal,” Zoe mutters, staring up at a tall empty hotel.   
“Yeah,” Connor takes a sharp right turn, “I think I’ll just drop you and Alana back off at home today then go to Evans for a few hours after school. Gotta, uh, talk about a couple things,”  
“Actually, Alana’s on vacation this week,”  
His voice is louder and more vocally bitter than he expects as he says: “Fine. Just you then,”  
Not another word is spoken between them all day. 

“Okay.” Connor lets out a deep sigh through his nose. He watches as Evan rummages his cupboards for—neither of them know. Connor assumes it must be important, considering how hard Evan is looking. “So, my parents found out I’m gay,”  
Evan stills and turns around. He looks at Connor with a not—sure—whether—to—be—happy—or—concerned look in his eyes.   
“Is that a good thing?”  
Connor shrugs. “I guess? I’m just… I told them I met my soulmate,” and, when Evan’s face falls of any colour, he adds, “I didn’t tell them who, though. So don’t worry about that. I just want to know if we are planning on telling them we’re soulmates?”  
Evan takes in a sharp breath at that word.   
He doesn’t say anything.   
“No, is what I’m assuming you’re gonna say,”  
“No, or, yeah. I guess. But, I’m not sure? On one hand, we kind of have to tell them at some point and just like with Alana meeting Zoe, it has to be sooner or later, and it should be sooner, but on the other hand, there’s the fact that neither of us, or at least I, don’t know what _this_ is. I mean, it could be romantic, but we also said it might not. And it really could be either, and we should tell them when we know, obviously, but when is that? It could be fifty years down the line, for all we know,”  
Connor raises an eyebrow. “Okay. You got it all out?” Evan nods, uncertain. “Alright. Lets just… not tell them until we’re sure.”  
Evan shakes his head.   
“What?”  
“I didn’t get it all out,”  
“Oh. Well, would you like to?”  
Evan nods and still avoids eye contact. “I was, um, thinking. After you left this morning. You know, as I do when I’m alone. And, it’s just sort of… weird that you were drunk last night when nothing was going on or… yeah. Um, I guess what I have to say, er, ask is: why did you drink last night?”  
“Had to get something off my mind for a couple hours,”  
“Can you tell me what?”  
“Um, not today. Haven’t really… come to terms with it myself, I guess,”   
Evan nods but Connor can tell he still isn’t satisfied with that answer.   
Neither of them press the conversation more and they move on quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming out is uncomfortable right oof


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: uh i use the f slur (p liberally might i add) once toward the end. be cautious if it’s triggering to you i guess idk i don’t rly write warnings but my friend told me to w this so here

If you were to tell Connor from only two months ago that he’d be sitting around a table with actual friends and having a civil conversation with them, his first response would most likely be ‘you’re insane.’  
And yet here he is.  
Kleinman has been joining the four of them more and more over the last few weeks, to the point that he’s stopped giving reasons to joining them and they’ve stopped asking. That doesn’t mean Connor enjoys it. Jared is still mostly unbearable, but Connor can admit, even when sober, some of his jokes are sort of funny. Not that he laughs at them.  
Evan still tries to make him laugh at the jokes. Both of them find him struggling. The fact that Evan has been more uncomfortable with eye contact with him mixed with that neither of them feel right touching the other, it’s been sort of unbearable when they hang out.  
Only the other week they were sleeping on each other and sharing a bed and cuddling, and now Evan wants at least one person between them at all times.  
It’s not great that that person is usually Kleinman.  
“Oh my god!” Zoe exclaims a little too loud for the library. She gets a warning glare from the librarian. “We haven’t talked about what we’re doing for Hallowe’en yet!”  
“Isn’t Alana putting on a party here or something?” Kleinman leans forward.  
Connor catches a glimpse of Evan out the corner of his eye. His stomach flips.  
“Yeah,” Alana says, “but I don’t have to be here for the whole thing. Besides, I’m gonna have a lot of help,” she looks at Evan and then Connor, “like them. And a lot of other people I’ve asked, and people in the student body, and some of the staff. They have it all covered,”  
“We should all just get together at one of our houses and—” Evan suggests and then—  
“ _One of our houses_ my ass,” Kleinman mocks lightly, “it’s gonna be the Incest Siblings’ house, you know this—”  
“—I’m literally a raging homosexual—”  
“—I have a girlfriend, Jared—!”  
“Plus, it’s gonna be busy as _fuck_ , so it’s the best place to scare kids,”  
Zoe and Connor share a tense look. They silently agree to let Zoe take the wheel; or Zoe decides to take the wheel so Connor can pretend to look everywhere but Evan; or Connor doesn’t even offer to look at the wheel and instead immediately diverts his gaze to Evan.  
God bless her sometimes.  
“Mom likes to be home on Hallowe’en for safety purposes,”  
Jared’s face drops just a bit. There’s still a small amount of hope that Connor wants to see get thrown out the window and onto the lawn a middle aged dad is mowing and shredded up into a million pieces like in cartoons. It’s not a conscious thing Connor imagines. But he thanks his mind for making him think it.  
“And,” Alana adds, “wouldn’t being busy be bad? Like, we would have no time to sit down and be friends,”  
Evan’s face turns red at that. It’s almost as if he’s still not used to having friends like Connor is.  
“Okay. Rich people neighbourhoods are out of the picture then. Lets just go to Evan’s. His mom is probably gonna be out that night and no one goes to his place for trick or treating. It’s perfect,”  
Kleinman ends with a satisfied shrug and a sip of his juice box, which is done just a smidgen too proudly.  
Evan stares at the table with wide eyes and a red face. He mouths the word ‘thanks’ sarcastically, then presumably feels Connor’s eyes on him and looks up. They lock eyes for just a few seconds before Evan averts his gaze to one of the optimistic posters on the wall.  
It makes Connor’s stomach sink. 

Much to the excitement of Connor, Zoe declines his offer of driving her and Alana home, and instead takes the bus to Alana’s house. He grins as soon as Zoe is out of sight and turns to Evan.  
“You’re excited,”  
“We don’t have to waste gas on driving all across town!” Connor whispers in pure excitement. He desperately wants to hug Evan, and yet there’s a thought at the back of his mind urging him not to. As if it’s not… appropriate at this moment? Is that the right word?  
And that thought is the only thing keeping him from doing so.  
“We don’t have to drive all the way across town. Just to your house; it’s closer,”  
Connor shakes his head and just walks away, hoping for Evan to follow. He doesn’t look behind until he’s out of the building and a couple people bump into him as a result of looking down at their phones, but sure enough, Evan is there and apologising profusely to everyone.  
“You don’t have to say sorry for everything, you know,”  
Evan blushes slightly and nods, holding back an apology for apologising so much.  
They wordlessly get into the car and stay like that until Connor doesn’t turn left or right, the determining factor over whether they’re going to the Murphy’s or the Hansen’s, but goes straight and onto the highway. The look of confusion on Evan’s face is all worth it.  
“We’re not going home today. At least not for an hour or so. I haven’t been able to look my parents in the eye since they found out I’m very gay,” Connor explains briefly.  
Evan turns from the rear view mirror to his friend. “But, you said— gas, and… where are we going?”  
Connor ignores the first… question? statement? as a result of not quite knowing how to respond to it. So, instead, he says, “You’ll see.” And adds for good measure: “Still not planning on murdering you,”  
Just as they’re about to turn onto the dirt, but still mud, road to the orchard, Connor takes a left and begins down an actual paved road that’s smooth and good for driving down in this fucking weather. This is such a big disappointment to Evan that Connor feels sort of bad.  
Sort of.  
Small stumpy buildings make their way into view in the distance after twenty some minutes of complete silence and blind trust. Evan’s eyes shift between the veteranian’s clinic and Connor and a worn down welcome sign.  
“What—”  
“It’s fine. I know where we’re going,”  
Evan looks away again and watches as a corner store comes and goes from view.  
“You said you wanted to save gas,”  
“I want to avoid my parents even more. Besides, there’s about three gas stations per block in this town,”  
“But—”  
“Please, calm down, you’ll be fine. I know where we’re going,”  
And then Connor turns.  
He parks in the parking lot of a tiny strip mall, where multiple shoppes for all extremely different purposes sit. The car sits right in front of the smallest of the shoppes; a very 1920’s—esque pink—painted ice cream shoppe, with flowers painted on the windows and swirling decorations lining everything despite the fact that they’re now closer to winter than anything. Evan unbuckles his seat belt, obviously not quite sure what else to do.  
Connor does the same and leads the way onto the thin sidewalk lining the strip mall.  
“What is this place?” Evan asks cautiously and joins Connor’s side in looking up at the shoppe.  
“À La Mode. Completely forgot about it until a couple weeks ago. My parents would take me and Zoe all the time when we were younger.” Connor pauses. “When it was hot out. But I’m pretty sure they serve things other than ice cream,”  
Evan nods and stands and rocks on the heels of his feet. Connor doesn’t move for a few seconds, for a couple reasons actually.  
One, its nice to have Evan comfortable around him when they’re alone. He’s all distant and weird at school, but alone he’s not so much.  
Two, he just wants to see how long Evan will stand still until someone else moves. He’s begun to notice Jared doing it, and it looks pretty entertaining, so why not join in on the fun?  
And finally three, he wants to have a cheesy romantic comedy scene sort of thing. One of them gets impatient, grabs the others hand and pulls them inside, warms up their cheeks from the cold with their hands, they share a short but oh so sweet kiss that is interrupted by a friend group or complete stranger and they go about their day.  
Ah well, just walking in and holding the door will do.  
For now. 

An employee sets down two small plates of food in front of Connor and Evan respectively. Connor’s heart skips a beat when he hears Evan thank the employee extremely politely.  
God, Evan will seriously be the death of him.  
“This place is, uh, nice,” Evan mutters looking down at his sandwich awkwardly.  
“You’re acting like this is a first date,” Connor says with a laugh. And then he realises what he just insinuated. And then his stomach drops. And then his face heats up. And then he looks up at Evan with wide eyes. “Not that I’m seeing this as a— shit, fuck, that just made things awkward. I don’t see things between us like that,”  
Evan nods rapidly and stares down. “Y—yeah, I get it! You were just making a comparison and it sounded like— yeah. It’s fine. Um… yeah,”  
Raising an eyebrow and nodding, Connor doesn’t feel his face cool off for a second. Instead, his fingers begin shaking and his only thought is, _Oh god I just fucked everything up by saying this is kind of like a date fuck_. And Evan has the same look upon his face.  
A slight tense silence falls between the two, of which Connor knows for a fact neither of them enjoy. His eyes shoot from the sandwich sitting on Evan’s plate to Evan himself to the bright pink lining on the walls and back to Evan. That’s sort of how things have developed recently.  
No matter what, it always goes back to Evan.  
And Connor’s not sure if he likes it or not.  
“How can you eat those things without throwing up?” Connor finds himself thinking aloud. It takes Evan off guard, proven by his deer—in—headlights look and mouth full of food.  
“Huh?”  
“Tomatoes. They’re fucking disgusting,”  
Evan swallows slowly and makes a mock shocked face, “tomatoes are great,”  
“How? They’re all mushy and the texture is weird and they’re always too hard and the weird goop in them and just— everything about them is disgusting,”  
Evan shakes his head.  
“Oh, and what’s better?”  
“Mushrooms,” Connor says, too reminiscent of Kleinman.  
“Okay, you need to get your priorities straight,” Evan decides and takes another bite of his sandwich.  
Connor looks down at his own and— without thinking— says, “How am I supposed to do that? I’m not straight. Like, at all,”  
Much to the dismay of Connor, Evan’s face wipes of any playful teasing and becomes completely serious in the snap of a finger. He stares down at the table and leans back in his chair the way he does when Jared teases him. In that ashamed, anxiety—filled way.  
“Shit, what did I do?” Connor asks. He stands and sits in one of the two other chairs next to Evan and slowly places a hand on his arm.  
“N—nothing,”  
“Oh, I see.” That familiar tense annoyance before a screaming fit fills Connor’s brain to the point he can’t think of anything else but— “You’re suddenly uncomfortable about the fact that I’m gay. Why is it always the people I actually fucking trust that wake up one day and think ‘hm, I’m not gonna be alright with the fags today’? I thought you were okay—”  
“No! No, that’s not it!” Evan’s panic filled voice is the only thing that clears Connor’s brain to make him realise that he’s standing in front of a chair that’s on its back with just fists clenched and nails digging into his palms. “I’m just— me too?”  
Connor unclenches his fists. He takes a deep breath. He sits in his original chair and looks at Evan in pure confusion.  
“ _Me too_?”  
“I, uh, I think I might not be, um, straight. Too. I still like girls and stuff so… but I’ve kind of, um, started being able to, uh, imagine myself with a… boy, as well,”  
For the first time since Connor sat down, Evan looks up. His face is in absolute cringe—mode.  
“And— I know there are better ways to say it,” Evan continues, “but, I dunno, I couldn’t think of better ways?”  
“So, what you’re saying is: you’re bi?”  
Evan stops for a second then begins nodding.  
Connor follows, not in confirmation but in slow… agreement? understanding? acceptance? Yeah, all of the above.  
“Alright. That’s cool,” Connor mutters, “thanks for telling me,”  
“You can’t tell anyone else, though! Especially not my mom, please,”  
“Yeah. No problem. That’s, uh, that’s fine,”

Connor falls asleep that night with a little bit of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao two lines in this chapter get sad later on rip


	20. Chapter Twenty

There are definitely better ways of telling your more than aware sister and her girlfriend that Romeo and Juliet is actually a really tragic story and it’s simply cheesy and kind of gross to dress up as them for Hallowe’en than ‘ew,’ but at this point, Connor doesn’t care. They probably spent about fifty dollars on the entire costume, which is about fifty dollars too many and fifty dollars more than Connor spent.   
He doesn’t understand Hallowe’en. Sure it was fun when he wa a kid, and then he learned the origin of it and began wondering why white people interpreted a respectful celebration of the dead as… whatever Hallowe’en is.   
At least it’s fun to see how much skin the girls at school think they can get away with showing.   
Zoe and Alana are the exception, obviously, what with their Shakespearean costumes and hair done perfectly and all.   
They also have been trying and trying to convince Connor to dress up. It’s simply not fun for him. Plus, what would he wear? There’s no good ideas that come to his head.   
“A cat! That’s easy!” Zoe says over a bowl of crackers.   
“I am not dressing up as a fucking cat,”  
Alana’s eyes shift from the dark window to Connor. “Language,”  
“Look,” Zoe continues, “I’m just trying to help,”  
“And I get that. I just, I don’t understand why it’s so important to you,”  
“Because I haven’t seen you put any effort into anything in the last five years other than screaming that you’re gonna kill your entire family,”  
Connor slouches back and glares wearily at her, not having any argument because it’s the truth.   
“What about a couples costume with Evan?” Alana suggests, desperate to break the tense air of the room.   
It doesn’t work.   
“We’re not a couple,”  
“ _Fine_. A pair of friends costume that matches and isn’t romantic in the slightest,”  
Connor rolls his eyes. “I think he already has his done,”  
“Whatever. I give up. You win.” Zoe stands and shoves her bowl away. She then leaves the room, not quite angry but also not perfectly okay. It’s a grey area that Connor somehow recognizes.  
Alana apologises quietly and follows Zoe. 

Evan answers the door in a black and red shirt and black jeans with one red eye contact in and a headband of little red horns stuck lazily atop his head.   
Connor must admit, he looks fucking cute.   
And, wow, those jeans fit _so_ well on Evan. And Evan looks great in black. And his hair is slightly messy. And the shirt is just a little tight. And—god, he looks fucking hot.   
How is that possible? Seriously, Connor’s utterly convinced it’s not possible for one person to look cute and hot and the same time by just standing there in a Hallowe’en costume.   
Zoe enters the house while somewhat staying in character as Juliet and holds Alana’s arm elegantly. And Connor is alone on the porch in no costume at all.   
“Hi,”  
The fact that Evan is initiating the conversation catches Connor slightly off guard. He looks up from staring at Evan’s chest with a red face and exhales with a small ‘Oh.’  
“Hey,”  
“What’re you supposed to be?”  
“I don’t dress up. And you?”  
“The devil. Jared made me.” Evan steps aside to let Connor in. “And, you don’t dress up? Come on,”  
Jared emerges from the kitchen with a large bowl of popcorn and wearing both a white button up and black feathered wings.   
“Hey, Connor!” Connors reminded of the first day all over again as Kleinman greets him, “Oh, creative. Going as yourself I see,”  
“Fuck off, Kleinman,”  
Kleinman raises his arms defensively. “Look, I’m just trying to pop my popcorn and pretend I’m straight,”  
What?  
That’s… what?  
Connor knits his eyebrows together at Kleinman, who simply winks and walks away into the living room to begin squealing in a teasing manner at the girls.   
Evan sighs heavily in exasperation.   
“Sorry… about him,”  
“Why are you apologising?”  
“I dunno. Just… follow me,”  
Neither move, both waiting for the other to.   
Well, the waiting is done more on Evan’s side. Connor sort of just stands there in absolute awe at the fact that, wow, Evan seriously _can_ look like that, and Evan seriously _does_ look like that, and Connor is so fucking gay how is this possible.   
His heart skips a beat when he remembers Evan is bi and he has at least a small chance.   
And then he remembers that Evan only _thinks_ he _might_ be bi, and his shoulders sag and his stomach drops and there’s a lump in his throat.   
“Stop standing there staring at each other! Move your gay asses!” Jared calls from where he’s standing in the living room archway. Connor glares. A hiss of warning comes from Zoe.   
Evan doesn’t miss a beat and speed walks in the direction of his bedroom with a red face. Connor doesn’t follow, but stands and watches, denying it but one hundred percent staring at Evan’s ass. Wow. His ass looks fucking good in those jeans.   
Maybe Kleinman has done good in this world.   
The thought of Kleinman causes him to stop staring and instead follow.   
Evan steps out of the way and lets Connor enter the small bedroom, a plastic bag sitting in the middle of his bed with a few white feathers sticking out of it.   
“Are you kidding me?”  
Connor stares at the bag in disbelief. He hears the door close behind him and feels his face heat up, knowing what comes after that because of all the Straight People movies he, like Jared, has seen.   
But that doesn’t happen and Evan just sort of… struggles to take whatever the feathers are connected to out of the bag.   
It’s a pair of wings.   
They’re the exact same as the ones Kleinman was wearing earlier except, holy shit, they’re white.   
Evan grimaces at Connor’s reaction with a small apology. Connor’s face as Evan reaches back into the bag and pulls out—is that a fucking halo?  
This must be a joke.   
“I am not wearing that,”  
“Please?” Evan smiles painfully. “Even for only an hour?”  
The doorbell rings, followed by loud shouts from Zoe and Kleinman, and the door hitting the wall behind it.   
Sighing, Connor nods, “fine,”  
“It’s not my fault! Jared said I should be the devil and you should be an angel,” Evan argues, watching as Connor struggles to put the wings on his back, “he said he’d fight me if I didn’t agree,”  
Connor laughs half heartedly.   
Evan looks up from his carpet to Connor and smiles genuinely. He almost actually beams. Connor’s heart melts at the sight, though he doesn’t let himself show it. He places the halo atop his head and ‘ta-da’s for Evan.   
Evan grins and stands, heading for the door, from which Connor can hear a the smallest bit of muffled arguing between Zoe and Kleinman. It reminds him just a bit too much of himself and Zoe, except those two aren’t screaming that they wish the other were dead, they’re playfully arguing about who deserved to answer the door.   
He sort of wishes he’s able to do the same without Zoe taking it seriously and getting angry at him and not talking to him again because of a… a rabbit. Sure, that works. But that most likely won’t happen anytime soon, so what’s the point in getting your hopes up? Five years of, truly, abuse and hatred can’t be killed in only two months.   
It takes a while.   
That’s the exact same thing Zoe said when she pointed out she knows about Connor’s crush. Fuck. That’s not fun in the slightest. 

Zoe and Alana fell asleep sprawled out in a blanket nest on the living room floor hours ago.   
Kleinman decided it would be best to pretend to go to the bathroom but instead pass out on Evan’s bed.   
And, finally, Connor nor Evan feel any sort of tired. They're both wide awake as if it’s midday still.   
On the roof.   
Every single room to sleep in in the house is either taken or off-limits, and both of them know they’re not sleeping in the bathtub, so they hoist a few blankets up on the roof and settle down. Evan lays and watches the stars, Connor playing with the hem of a large lumpy brownish gold duvet.   
He stares down at Evan’s amazed face, both taking in the view.   
Connor can feel his stomach do a few flips and the tips of his ears burn as he imagines leaning down and kissing Evan right now; Evan running his hands through Connor’s hair; reluctantly pulling away for air; their foreheads still pressed together; a short conversation admitting their love for one another their breaths mingling at the closeness; small chuckles on Connors side slowly turning to laughter between the pair; Evan pulling Connor down and cuddling him to his chest; falling asleep in each other’s arms and waking up to the feeling of safety and love.   
Evan snaps his head down and smiles contently at Connor before looking back up at the stars.   
“This is kinda boring,” Connor mutters and stares out at the street behind him, “wanna go somewhere?”  
Evan slowly nods and sits up, stretching out his legs so the feet just nearly touch Connor’s knee. Connor can’t help but hold his breath, watching and waiting.   
But it doesn’t happen. 

They do the same thing on the hill as on the roof.   
Evan sprawls out in the cold grass and simply admires the stars, Connor sat cross legged playing with a small dandelion and admiring Evan.   
His lips are slightly parted and his left arm is still stiff from the cast and his hair is swept up and out of his face and his eyes are wide and his chest slowly rises and falls with his breathing.   
Connor just wants to crawl over and lay his head on Evan’s chest.   
Almost as if on queue, though, loud laughing and shouting from definitely more than two drunk teenagers echo from the shack near the entrance.   
Both turn to the sound then to each other in panic and stand, running over the bridge, and into the café to hide. Hiding from what? Now that’s a mystery not even Sherlock can solve. It’s not as if anyone’s going to call the cops for trespassing or some shit, those people are trespassing too.   
Evan basically leaps under the table furthest from the door, moving against the wall and making room for Connor, despite there not being much.   
Oh no, what a shame, they have to sit in a tiny cramped space with no room to move side to side for god knows how long, whatever will they do?   
Connor gasps at the base of his throat as Evan places his hand on Connors thigh. He’s not sure why. There’s not really anywhere else to put it. Except for his own lap. Connor flushes red at that fact.   
The drunk teenagers don’t get quieter for… two, three hours? Connor can’t tell, what with the lack of working clocks and trying to control his breathing from the closeness between the pair. A couple times, Evan leans his head down and rests it on Connors shoulder, and Connor seriously considering the same as he watches the sun rise through the window directly in front of them.   
One of the drunk teenagers scream ‘oh shit’ at the sun and begins audibly running, the rest of their friends following behind loudly.   
“Well,” Evan mutters, both turning to the other for full attention, “they’re gone. We’re not gonna get in trouble, we—”  
Connor can’t help it.   
He cuts Evan off with a rough kiss, turning his head and body uncomfortably to do so, and isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands.   
Does he hold Evan? No, that would be too far already. Does he keep them right where they are? No, that’s just weird. Does he pretend he’s going to hold Evan’s face but stops midway and doesn’t bother putting it down again? Yes. Perfect.   
The sensation is more enjoyable than anything Connor has ever experienced.   
The countless times he’s imagined it unknowingly, silently staring at Evan and trying to figure out what his lips feel like against his own, what Evan’s reaction would be, what Evan would do, how long it would last, everything he can think of.   
This is definitely not what he thought it would be.   
He thought it would be up in a tree or in the early morning or… something the least but romantic. Not under a dusty table with cobwebs everywhere in a run down café on a Drug Hill.   
It’s a start. No one can start right at the top of the romance chain.   
Connor melts as Evan slowly places a hand on his cheek, rubbing his thumb along Connor’s cheekbone soothingly. Connor in turn takes that as an okay to place a gentle hand upon Evan’s chest, feeling and admiring it through the fabric of his black shirt. He gasps in the back of his throat as Evan begins becoming much more confident in the kiss, then—  
He pulls away almost as fast as Connor leaned in in the first place.   
Connor hovers for a few seconds, taking in the view of Evan’s beetroot red face, of which shows one emotion: shock. And then he turns away, oblivious to the look upon his own face.   
“Um—uh— as—as I was, uh, saying: we can, um, we can go back h—to my, uh, house. If you’d like,”  
Connor is speechless.   
He tries to force words out, and yet they refuse to escape. He takes Evan’s hand and raises an eyebrow, biting his lip over exaggerated. And then he finds only four words that are willing to leave:  
“Did you like it?”  
Evan pulls his gaze away from their intertwined fingers and nods slowly. His eyebrows knit together and his lips tighten and the nod is sort of jerky and he’s fucking cute. Connor grins and stands, waiting for Evan and exiting the café without a word or touch or even eye contact. They make their way down the short hill and through the large field lined with trees, which takes only longer than usual with Connor’s constant checks behind him to make sure that, yep, Evan is still there.   
The drive back is… strange. The air is slightly tense, yet not too much that it’s awkward. As far as Connor’s concerned, neither of them regret it, rather both loved it and would do it again in a heartbeat. Yet neither want to touch one another, nor look in each other’s even general direction, nor speak, nor make any noise whatsoever. The only skin to skin and eye contact they make on their way back is when Connor makes a move to turn on the radio and Evan stops him softly.   
The way Evan looks at him.   
Connor pulls into the Hansen’s driveway, Jared on the porch pouting under a hanging plant that may as well be dead and piano music playing softly through the windows and door.   
“What happened?” Evan asks. His hands are stuck deeply in this pockets, a disappointment to Connor.   
“They locked me outside,”  
“Why?”  
“Because apparently I’m not trusted around a stove,”  
“Oh, boo hoo,” Connor patronizes, “I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t trust you with a wooden spoon,”  
“Why?”  
“Knowing you, you'd probably stick it up your ass as a dildo,”  
Kleinman blushes slightly. He makes an overly offended face, then he wears a look that says ‘fair enough.’  
Evan and Connor share a look in which Connor tries to decipher what it means, it’s just simply too specific and vague at the same time.   
The way Evan’s face quickly turns from concern to slight annoyance and focus is honestly a bit of a turn on for Connor. But he can’t see anything like that happening any time soon. They literally just had their first kiss, and it wasn’t anything special. It was a sort of heat of the moment, impulsive decision Connor made. And he doesn’t regret it at all.   
But there’s a little thought that keeps poking at the back of his mind that Evan might just regret it. Or, rather, wish it didn’t happen. The way he acted and is acting is… not great.   
That’s a thought for another time. Tomorrow, maybe? The day after, or next week, or never. Yeah. Never sounds good.   
It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to think about or even consider the fact that Evan might not have liked the kiss, because he wants to, one hundred percent, it’s simply that his brain won’t let him. It’s already convinced him that Evan liked it and feels the same way for Connor as Connor to Evan, but he knows that’s just… not true.   
That’s a bold assumption.   
He won’t know until Evan tells him, or Connor asks, or he sees how the next few days pan out.   
Great, he hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are actually happening y’all


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

All Connor is doing is waiting by the library for Evan to arrive. That’s it. He’s just standing and watching people pass and talk with their friends, hoping Evan will appear behind that corner or somehow morph from that person.   
And all he does is wave when Evan does appear. It’s a simple wave, that’s all it is. Saying ‘hey, join me for lunch?’ from across the hall without screaming it.   
So why Evan turns around and walks in the direction of his locker is a mystery. 

Maybe that was just a bad day, though. Today can’t be the same. Connor has days just like that; when he doesn’t want to see anyone and simply be alone. He can’t blame Evan. It happens.   
But when Evan turns down his offer of a ride to school, with the excuse being that he’s only a few blocks away, a single gear in Connors head moves an inch, though it doesn’t do much for the rest.   
No, it’s probably the same as yesterday. It’s not weird. Or suspicious. His body is still probably resetting from his bad day. It’s happened countless times to Connor. 

And when Wednesday rolls around, and when Evan completely ignores Connor in their meeting in front of the school, and when Connor has to pull Evan into the broken down bathroom (which still reeks of weed), Connor can’t help but feel weird.   
“What the fuck is going on?”  
Evan looks absolutely tiny under Connors gaze. He shakes violently and avoids eye contact at all costs. It does not feel good. He was just getting used to it, with Connor at least, and now he’s back to square one?  
“Why have you been avoiding me like I’m the fucking Black Plague and we’re in France during 1700s?”  
“I—I don’t know. I’ve been having bad days, I guess?”  
Connor steps back and rolls his eyes. “That’s exactly what I thought.” His voice has a bitter bite of sarcastic truth in it, which hurts himself as well as Evan.   
“It’s the truth, though! My—my anxiety’s been acting up and I—”  
“Have you been taking your meds?”  
Evan looks… offended? Yeah, that’s the exact word. He looks offended, and Connor truly doesn’t know why he does. It’s a simple question. With a simple yes or no answer.   
“Have you?”  
“What?” Connor blinks, “that’s not at _all_ what we’re talking about here. Have you been taking your meds?”  
“And have you?”  
“Just answer my fucking question,”  
A quiet buzzing sound comes from the corner of the room. It’s irritating. No, more than irritating. It’s fucking infuriating.   
Connor feels his hands begin to clam up and his chest fills with air, though not in a panic attack way, rather a rage-filled, uncontrollable anger way.   
Does he want this right now? This isn’t the time to answer that question. The only answer he wants right now is whether or not Evan’s been taking his meds.   
“Well?” Connor’s voice is nothing but a growl, “Have you?”  
“No.” Evan says. His voice is small and so, so weak.   
“Of course. And why is that, may I ask? Or will you try to flip the switch on me again?”  
“I—I didn’t think I needed them,” Evan sobs, though Connor brushes this off, and continues, “I thought I didn’t need them anymore. I—I thought I was getting better… like you,”  
He adds that last part on the end in an act of hesitancy and caution. And for some reason, it doesn’t sit well with Connor.   
“Because I do something means you are too, then? Is that why you think you like guys, too? Because I do? That’s fucking messed up, Hansen, getting my hopes up and shit like that,”  
Connor feels his eyes begin to burn with tears, though he refuses to let them loose. Evan shrinks somehow more against the wall and cradles his left arm.   
“I—I do like guys, though, and—”  
“Stuff it, Hansen. Get out of my sight. You fucking disgust me,”  
“But—”  
“I said fuck off!”  
Connor’s scream echoes through the tiled room and a ringing finds its way into his ears, not to be stopped until the door is slammed shut and Connor is standing in the middle of a dusty, old, weed scented room, gasping for breath and not quite realizing what he just did.   
He fucked up, that’s all he knows. 

At the moment, no one but himself and Evan can, nor do, know about that.   
But he’s not concerned about that at the moment. His only concern right now is where in the world Evan is. Because he sort of just… disappeared, yesterday and hasn’t shown up today anywhere.   
Alana told Connor that she has homeroom and first period with Evan and he wasn’t there this morning; Zoe’s been texting him all day with zero responses; and Connor even went as far as to get Kleinman’s number for the sole purpose of asking him to go to Evan’s house, because Evan definitely won’t answer the door for Connor.   
Though Kleinman did say there was definitely noise from Evan’s house, no one has been lucky in finding him.   
By Friday, Connor has convinced himself that it’s because of him that Evan isn’t at school, so he in turn convinces Cynthia to let him stay home. It isn’t too hard either. She’s become a little too trusting of him as of late, to the point she stopped asking about his soulmate. That’s caused him to become suspicious for multiple reasons.   
Maybe it’s because she now knows he’s gay, and is absolutely repulsed by the idea of his soulmate being a boy.   
Maybe it’s because she believes he’ll tell her who it is one of these days and asking about it is still a touchy, dangerous subject.   
And maybe it’s because she somehow found out who his soulmate is. He didn’t think about that until just the night previous, but it’s really not improbable. She might have bribed it out of Zoe, or listened in on one of Connor and Zoe’s conversations, or she actually has known all along and has been pretending she doesn’t know.   
But the moment she leaves the house at noon-ish, Connor begins blasting his music and paces around the hall, starting at one end in front of his bedroom, ending at the other end in front of Larry and Cynthia’s, and repeating the action over and over again.   
Fuck.   
Where the actual hell is Evan? He can text Zoe and ask if she’s seen him at school. It’s lunch hour now. It is a good option.   
Fuck it, he’s going to do it.   
_hey zo have you seen evan yet_  
He stares at the text and bites his thumb, tapping his foot rhythmically along to the bass beat of the music playing. Almost hesitantly, three dots show up on the left side of the screen. His heart skips a beat at the thought of all the different responses.   
_[zoe] now  
No. Sorry_  
Fuck.   
_it’s fine. he’ll show up sooner or later_  
But it isn’t fine.   
It’s not fine at all.   
Connor fucked up. He fucked up real bad, to the point Evan has virtually disappeared off the face of the earth. Well, not exactly. It’s still stressing Connor out, though, to an unreasonable point.   
_[zoe] now  
Jared can go check Evans house again if you want?? I dont think hed mind_  
No.   
_no. you guys just eat. i’ll try to get ahold of him_  
Connor desperately tries to convince himself he’s as calm about everything as he’s coming off in these texts, when in reality, he wants to punch a hole in the wall and throw his phone across the room and destroy every plate, bowl, and cup in the house. All because of one stupid fucking kiss.   
Why did he have to do that in the first place? They were good just the way they were. But of course not. Connor has to just go and act completely on autopilot and kiss Evan. And then act like everything is fine and the exact same as before, when he knows very well that it’s not. It’s not at all the same as before.   
But maybe if he were able to just talk to Evan? See what’s going on with him; ask what’s wrong; ask about the current point of their relationship. Because, don’t get him wrong, Connor definitely wants to begin dating Evan, but he’s not sure whether or not Evan feels the same. It’s a feeling that Connor, in all honesty, does not know how to react to. Because on one hand, it causes him to get all giddy at the thought that Evan might just feel the same way and is figuring it out; on the other, if Evan doesn’t want to engage in a romantic relationship, sure it’s disappointing, but Connor gets it. He wouldn’t want to date someone that called him a freak and pushed him to the ground only two months ago.   
God.   
He needs something other than this to do. So what better to do than go downstairs, get high, and begin watching one of those TV shows Cynthia recommended. 

Connor is fucking high as a kite. Holy shit.   
He’s irritable and cannot sit still and his mind is still racing with thoughts of Evan, Evan, Evan.   
A while ago, the TV show Cynthia recommended became boring and a little bit annoying, so he turned that off and hasn’t bothered to do anything else. He can imagine why Zoe is so confused when she walks in, seeing her brother visually high out of his mind, staring at the ceiling, in the complete silence and darkness of the living room.   
“What—”  
“Oh. You’re home. Great,”  
Zoe hesitantly sits in one of the large chairs they got from Cynthia’s dad after he died and stares at Connor.   
“We didn’t see Evan at all today again,”  
“I’m so surprised,” Connor mutters sarcastically, furrowing his eyebrows and staring at one of the patterns of the ceiling that looks particularly like Tinker Bell.   
“ _So_ Jared is going over to his house later to try to make him leave,”  
Connor lifts his head and nearly kills her with his glare. He decides, right in that moment, to stand and leave the house.   
“Where do you think you’re going?” Zoe calls. Connor turns around from opening the driver side door of their shared vehicle to see her leaning against the doorframe.   
“Out,”  
“You’re high. You’re not going anywhere,”  
“Oh, I’ve done it before, it’s not like this is any different,”  
“I can smell the weed from here,”  
“Because I smoked the shit, like, five feet away from where you’re standing!”  
“That’s still a bullshit excuse. You can’t drive right now, I won’t let you,”  
Zoe begins speed walking toward her brother, who simply raises the keys above his head and stares down at her, saying ‘I dare you. I fucking dare you to try’ with his eyes. She takes a step back.   
“You’re gonna die if you try driving,”  
“Good. That’s the plan,”  
“Connor, you are not getting in that car!”  
“Eat my fucking ass,” Connor almost yells. He gets in the car despite Zoe’s protests and makes a grand gesture of locking the doors so she can’t get in.   
“I swear to god—”  
“I’m going to run you over and kill you with this motherfucker if you don’t get off my dick about this this instant,”  
Zoe’s face turns from concern and anxiety to absolute anger and almost audibly wipes of any care for her brother. “Fuck it. Go crash and die in a ditch for all I care. Go ahead. Die. No one will give two shits, I guarantee it,”  
“Fine! I will, since it’s your only wish right now, to see me burnt alive in the press and in that fucking $500 coffin, dead and finally gone from this bullshit world,”  
“Fuck you. Asshole,”  
Zoe steps away from the car, shaking with either sadness or anger, and holds up both her middle fingers for _this bullshit world_ to see. Connor doesn’t retaliate, knowing even in his high that that’d be simply immature, but just turns up the heat and grips the steering wheel so hard he can’t feel his hands any more.   
The way he’s driving, he can’t believe he doesn’t hit someone. It’s absolutely reckless. It’s definitely the high and pure rage at Zoe mixed together in some boiling hot careless, senseless soup.   
And by the point he’s parked lazily in the orchard parking lot, he’s sweating like a pig and gasping for cool air. He opens the door, hit in the face as if with a baseball bat with the early winter air.   
Tears prick the corners of his eyes, though he doesn’t wipe them away. Rather, he lets them run free and wild as he does the same into the large yellow field, across it, heading directly for the tallest tree.   
The moment he hits it, a loud sob, or grunt, emits from somewhere deep in his stomach, and begins climbing.   
Ten feet.   
Connor Murphy, the kid that’s been troubled as long as anyone can remember.   
Twenty feet.   
The kid that relapses in the snap of a finger.   
Thirty feet.   
The kid that scares everyone at school because he looks like a school shooter.   
Forty feet.   
The kid that had a best friend he’s hopelessly in love with only a week ago.   
Fifty feet.   
The kid that wants to kill himself as soon as that best friend stops talking to him, despite having other friends and convinced himself that things will get better.   
The kid that gets in fights with his sister over the smallest things.  
The kid that is the family disappointment, hated by his father, hated by his sister, ignored by his mother.   
The kid that is going to kill himself.   
Zero feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao you thought it was gonna be happy. all yall commenting on the last chapter like ‘finally omg’ ‘it finally happened’ how you feel now huh. i love making people suffer.


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Zoe lays there.  
It’s dark. Too dark. Too perfect. A perfect analogy for how she’s feeling. Dark and cold and scared.  
And yet it’s not quiet.  
Cynthia can be heard quietly whispering under Larry’s loud frustrated concerns, she definitely trying to let Zoe sleep, he not caring.  
Her blanket is suffocating. It’s heavy and cold. But, without it to grip onto to suppress the scream that’s fighting to escape, she would freeze to-  
Not death. Don’t think about death.  
She turns to her side to stare out the giant window. It’s beginning to snow. Just a little bit. And still enough to cause concern for Connor—where is he? He could be freezing anywhere right now; he could be almost frozen on the side of the road by now; he could be dead.  
Hot tears, the only hot thing in the room, begin running down her face silently. She doesn’t try to stop them from doing so, but doesn’t let the sobs that rack her body join the tears. She doesn’t want to let Cynthia hear and be concerned for both children at the same time.  
How well that plan goes?  
A knock. A single knock. It’s quiet, close to not being able to be heard through the ringing of Zoe’s ears.  
“Honey?” Cynthia whispers and opens the door without permission to do so. Zoe quickly wipes the tears away and looks at her mother. “Oh, you’re up. Um, me and your father we’re talking and—” Cynthia lets a weak sigh escape, “we don’t know where in the world your brother is, but our best hope at the moment is that he’s with Evan,”  
Zoe’s stomach drops. She feels like throwing up, but doesn’t show it. “Okay?”  
“We don’t have Evan’s, or his parents’, numbers, so if you could maybe text him and see if Connor’s with him?”  
“Why not ask Connor?”  
“We’ve been trying. He won’t answer any texts or calls. Won’t even send the calls to voicemail,”  
Zoe doesn’t hold back the sob this time.  
She wails. Absolutely wails as hot tears begin streaming down her cheeks, across the bridge of her nose, onto her ear, to her lips. Cynthia lets out a quiet, understanding ‘oh’ and pulls her daughter into a warm hug.  
It’s comforting.  
It’s familiar.  
It’s sweet.  
But considering the circumstances, Zoe can’t bring herself to be comforted.  
They sit, mother and daughter, hugging and trying to calm down, for countless minutes. Or, rather, ten, but Zoe isn’t counting.  
“Mom,” she whispers, voice shaky and weak, “I’m scared. I’m so scared. What if— what if he’s—” she can’t bring herself to finish the thought before sobbing again.  
“I know, sweetheart, I know. But, we won’t know until we find out where he is. I hate to ask it in this moment, but please ask Evan if Connor’s with him,”  
Zoe doesn’t argue.  
She does as she’s told and forms a text with shaky hands and little spellcheck.  
_Hey Evan my paewnts wnd I dont know where Connpr is. Mom wants to kmow if hea with you_  
Sure, the red lines taunt her, but she presses ‘send’ and waits for a response.  
A minute passes with none. With every second that ticks by, a little more hope escapes.  
Cynthia can see this on Zoe’s face.  
“Why don’t you come downstairs for some hot chocolate? To distract us?”  
“What good is a distraction? What will that do? Stop us from thinking about how long Connor could be dead?”  
“It’s just a suggestion,”  
The desperate look in Cynthia’s face is enough for Zoe to change her mind, agreeing simply out of pity. Cynthia purses her lips in a pained smile before standing and leaving the room, turning the bright yellow light on as she does so.  
Zoe shakes her head, unable to think about anything but Connor, and how Connor might be dead right now, and how she’s definitely part of the reason, and how Connor was already going through so much that he didn’t need his own sister screaming that she wants him dead.  
Ding.  
A small white light breaks in through the yellow. There, on the left side of the screen, is Evan’s response, the only thing anyone has heard of him in days.  
_[Evan] now_  
No, he’s not. What happened?  
She’s hesitant to answer his question, yet finds herself typing anyway.  
_I dont knpw. I gpt home from sgxool today and he was hihg nd got angry at me for asking then lefr and no pne has seen him since. We thunk he might have kilkrd hinself_  
An insistent, annoying whistle joins Larry’s loud phone call in the next room. Though the whistle is coming from downstairs.  
Cynthia barely has time to call Zoe to join her before Zoe herself is barrelling down the stairs, suddenly desperate for a distraction from the last two words she wrote. Two empty mugs sit on the table, one white and pristine and perfect, the other pink with gold stars and scratches and a chipped handle, small warm windows to temporary happiness sitting unknowing.  
“Did he reply?” Cynthia asks, pouring hot water into each of the mugs. At Zoe’s raise of an eyebrow toward the water, she explains, “we’re almost out of milk,”  
“Yeah. He did,”  
“And? What’d he say?”  
Zoe sighs, reading the text out loud. It’s short but so, so hope crushing. Cynthia sinks into the chair across from her daughter, sighing in a way that explains how Zoe feels. Empty and hopeless.  
They sit in silence, nothing but the harsh wind hitting the walls and window breaking it, for minutes.  
And then a series of vibrations from Zoe’s phone on its place on the table arrives.  
Almost tempted to ignore it completely, she pushes the feeling aside and upturns the device, greeted by a smiling picture of Evan in the school library above one red dot, and one green dot.  
“Evan…” Cynthia exhales, getting a glance of the screen, in a sort of disappointed-but-also-happy way.  
She presses the green dot.  
“Hi.” The realisation that Zoe’s voice definitely isn’t as chipper and awake, rather quiet and tired and croaky from the crying, hits her like a bus.  
“Hey! Um, where—where are you? Like, currently? Location-wise? I—”  
The frantic panic in Evan’s voice is, well, not the greatest thing to hear of him in days.  
God, maybe she’s bothering him with this. She should’ve declined Cynthia’s request; saying Evan’s probably asleep by now. He probably doesn’t care about any of them at this point. Why would he be ignoring every text, call, and knock they’ve been sending his way the last few days? He probably has some friends, or signed up for a better online school and met people there, and completely forgot about Connor.  
Wait, no. Why would any of that be the case? _He_ called Zoe. He must care, right? At least for Connor.  
“Evan. It’s okay. Don’t worry. I—er— _we’re_ at home,”  
“We? Who else is there? Is Connor there? Is he okay? Oh, god, are you guys playing a prank on me? This isn’t funny,”  
Yeah. He definitely cares about Connor.  
It’s sort of sweet.  
“No. It isn’t a prank. It’s me, and mom, and dad. We’re looking for Connor,”  
Zoe’s suddenly too aware of Cynthia’s gaze. She looks up and is met with her mother’s anxious face, face heating up as she realises she doesn’t have much time to talk and she needs answers.  
“Okay, um, can I just, like, come over? Talk to you face to face?” Zoe says, refusing Evan’s breath for his turn to speak.  
Cynthia nods, understanding the question is for her and Evan alike.  
“Y-yeah. Yeah! That’s a good idea! Oh, um, fare warning, Jared is currently sleeping on the couch, so, um, be careful of him? He’s a light sleeper so maybe, uh, make as little noise as possible. Maybe?”  
Through the excited buzzing of her head, Zoe doesn’t question that Jared is on Evan’s couch. It goes directly over her head.  
“Okay. Sounds good. Thank you. Bye.”  
Zoe hangs up and stands without a goodbye from Evan, disregarding her mug of hot chocolate, and slipping on a pair of slippers (she’s not sure who they belong to), eager to leave the house and talk to Evan.  
Now she knows how Connor feels.  
Or felt.  
“Sweetie, slow down, he isn’t going anywhere,”  
“But Connor could be! We can’t be putting this off as long as we can; Connor could be dying right now, for—”  
“Please don’t suggest that. Take my keys. Start my car. I just have to grab my wallet,”  
Zoe nods frantically.  
“Oh, and,” Cynthia adds, “put on some real shoes. You have time,”

Sure enough, Jared’s sleeping form can be heard snoring even through the front door. Evan quickly leads her away from the living room, though, and into his bedroom, the only room with the light on.  
“First of all, that was sort of rude; second of all, why have you been acting like you don’t exist; third of all, do you have any idea as to where Connor could be?”  
Evan’s face falls, not quite crying, but also not not-crying. Zoe didn’t know there was a middleground, and yet here she is. The look of brokenness and desperation are the only things Zoe can pinpoint exactly on Evan’s face. He stares at open palms on his lap, avoiding Zoe’s consoling gaze, taking deep breaths and saying a few random numbers, ranging anywhere from one to eight.  
“Sorry…” Evan whispers finally, “personal stuff. I—I don’t think it’s really my place to say, or, not my _complete_ place to say. I’m involved, but other people are, too, and I don’t know how the other per—people feel about saying it. But, yeah, personal stuff… that I’ve been trying to… work out I guess? That’s definitely the wrong word I’m sorry,”  
Zoe doesn’t say anything.  
“And, uh, yeah. I think so. Might know where he is. I think I might know where he is, but I don’t know if I should go if you go to find him? I don’t think he wants to see me right now? I’ve not been the greatest friend recently, what with ignoring you guys and—”  
“Evan.” Zoe says sharper than she means.  
Evan looks up at her with wide, teary eyes that remind her of Connor’s left eye. It’s not great trying to comfort someone that reminds you of the exact thing keeping you up.  
“Look,” she grips her hair. It’s greasy. Gross, “he wants to see you. I know it for a fact. He needs you Evan. He is the biggest asshole I know when he hasn’t seen you for that long,”  
Evan lets out a breath, visibly shrinking with relief.  
“The orchard,” he says, “he’s probably at the orchard,”  
“What? That place shut down _years_ ago,”  
“We’ve, uh, we’ve been going there. Sneaking in. To, um, hang out recently. Actually, since we began hanging out.” The smile that forces itself onto Evan’s face as he speaks makes Zoe realises something that she’s pretty sure Evan hasn’t realised himself. “That’s really the only place I can think of? So, yeah. He’s probably there,”  
“So we’ll check there. You know him better than anyone else—.”  
Evan turns red. “No. I don’t. You’re his sister. You do,”  
Zoe doesn’t argue. They’ll both stick to their opinions—though she knows she’s right.  
“How will we get there?”  
“Jared’s truck?” Zoe suggests, remembering the bright red truck with the ‘Proud Mother of UofLA Student’ bumper sticker on the back. She suspects Jared put it there himself. It wouldn’t surprise her at all.  
“He’s asleep,”  
“Connor could be dead,”  
Evan makes up his mind. Sure, his face drains of all colour and it falls with the realisation, but the way he walks steadily for the living room tells a different story. He looks almost confident. The light is on before Zoe is anywhere near the living room and Jared is immediately screaming in fear.  
Actually, swearing is a more appropriate word.  
Jared is immediately swearing in fear.  
“Shut up! We need you to drive us somewhere!” Evan yells over Jared. It’s like he’s a whole new person.  
“Us?”  
“Me and Zoe. We don’t know where Connor is. Well, we think we might, but we need a ride there? Can you drive us?”  
Jared stares at Evan, deadpan, then slowly shifts his focus to Zoe. He must see the pure desperation and reliance upon him in her face, because he stands up with a huff and gets ready to go without a single word.  
Within five minutes, the three of them are piled into Jared’s red pickup (Zoe in the back seat next to a box that she really does not want to touch) and speeding toward Autumn Smile in the dead of night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as any chicago cop will tell you, phone books don’t leave bruises  
> anyway did you know i would die for zoe murphy


	23. Twenty-Three

Jared may as well not know how to drive.   
He’s a bad driver. And not in the way that Connor was a bad driver, or Zoe is a bad driver when she’s agitated, he is just… not good.   
Though, Zoe doesn’t offer to take over, completely adamant on getting to the orchard as quickly as humanly possible. And she, for some reason she can’t quite pinpoint, she doesn’t want to drive this truck. Whether it’s a matter of trust on the truck, or how sanitary the wheel is, or how bad of a backseat driver Jared could be. No clue.   
Evan doesn’t say a word the entire drive, rather he just sits and shakes and chews his nails and stares out the window with wide eyes. Jared and Zoe try to keep a strained conversation going, though. They talk about anything from the weather to the Murphy’s childhood dog that got run over by a car when Zoe was 13. How they end up talking about Bitchy is a mystery.   
Bitchy wasn’t the dogs actual name. They got her as a birthday gift on Zoe’s 10th birthday and Connor got pissy that he didn’t get anything special for his, so he began calling her Bitchy. It began as a secret nickname that no one knew and eventually escalated that she began responding to Bitchy and Zoe forgot her actual name, so they just stuck with Bitchy. Connor wasn’t too happy about that. He was happy when she got ran over. He hated that dog.   
Jared responds to her story with a tiny ‘wow’ as he pulls into the familiar-but-not-too-familiar dirt road leading to the orchard. The further they go, the more memories wash back of driving down it for family picnics when she and Connor were kids.   
Does everything have to remind her of Connor? Is that suddenly a rule that her brain made up without realising it? Because she truly hates it.   
The closer they come to the little driveway of the orchard parking lot, the further straight Evan sits, until they pull in and get a clear view of Connor’s car. The drivers door is open and the car itself is still running. Evan exhales. Not in a relieved way, rather an anxiety and doubt filled way.   
The moment Jared puts the truck into park, Zoe jumps out and stumbles her way though the mud, wiping snowflakes and wet hair out of her eyes every few seconds. No one is following her, though.   
“Evan!” She calls back at the truck. Evan rolls down the window, but doesn’t look up. He just looks at the floor defeated. “Evan! For God’s sake, you coming?”  
“I—I don’t think I should. I mean, I’m probably the reason he’s here. He doesn’t want to see me. I’ll just wait. You get him,”  
“So am I. Get out of the vehicle you fucking pussy!”   
No more arguing takes place. Evan doesn’t look like he wants to. He just follows her into the giant orchard.   
It’s surreal, seeing this place after so many years. Sure, the last time she was here, she was probably 12 years old and it was a warm, happy June afternoon, not 16 on a freezing, anxiety-filled November at midnight. It’s still surreal.   
Evan stands still, thinking as he looks out at the trees.   
“You check the café. I’ll look around. I might know where he is,”  
“Dude. You knew he was at this place. You have, like, a magnetic pull toward him. I’m following you,”  
Evan opens his mouth to reply, closes it, and begins walking along the fence.   
The wind whips Zoe’s face despite the speed they’re walking at. It hits her with the force of a thousand suns it seems, or at least that’s how her hair is currently acting. Set for the few clumps of hair that stick for dear life across her neck.   
This kind of weather is great; the weird rain that’s somehow snow at the same time. She doesn’t understand why Connor likes this time of year so much.   
Evan stops dead in his tracks for half a second then begins running toward one of the trees. It takes Zoe a couple seconds to understand why.   
There Connor is.   
Laying uncomfortably across one of the roots, hair drenched with mud and rain/snow, eyes closed tightly, lips blue, and freezing tears along his cheeks despite he fact that rain should have washed them away. Evan kneels at Connor’s side, shaking him and almost screaming in his face to wake up.   
Oh my god. That’s actually Connor. He’s actually here. And he’s actually alive. Or—maybe. He might be alive. That’s even more terrifying than Evan’s screams of horror and desperation. Somehow.   
Evan beats at Connor’s chest, sobbing for really anything. Meanwhile Zoe just sits back and stares at Connor’s unconscious form in the darkness. It hits her like the bird that Jared nearly killed on their way over that Connor might be dead right now. He might be frozen to death, or dead from impact of falling, and Evan is sitting there screaming for him to wake up.   
“No, stop.” Zoe comes to her senses. “That—oh my god—okay, um, we’ll carry him back to the car. Jared can drive us to the hospital. You can try to wake him up on the way there,”  
Zoe shakes her head despite her confidence in the makeshift plan. Evan agrees, lifting one of Connors arms around his neck and dragging him, with the help of Zoe, back through the field and housting him into the back seat.   
Zoe moves the box to make room for her brother. It feels gross. 

Despite Evan’s best and desperate efforts to get Connor to wake up, it doesn’t work and the three conscious ones have to drag Connor into the hospital. He’s immediately checked into emergency. Zoe stutters out an explaination to one of the nurses working. The nurse nods once, telling them to sit and wait or go home.   
Jared decides to go sleep in his truck while Evan and Zoe sit in the waiting room, Zoe shaking violently as she desperately tries to form a text to Cynthia.   
This is… not fair; terrifying; her fault; Evan’s fault; not something someone should have to go through. Three times. Three times. He’s tried killing himself three times. Holy shit.   
And each time, Zoe has either stopped him or found him.   
Both previous times are burned into her memory forever. And they haunt her. The first time, sure, it was pretty traumatic, but considering Zoe entered his room before he even got the chance to hang the noose, she’s sort of… stopped having nightmares about it. That’s a phenomenon she can’t explain.   
The second time.   
She still has panic attacks every time Connor has baths; when she hears someone running a bath; water running can be heard for over ten minutes. That’s too traumatic for Zoe to ever forget. She still regrets waiting that last minute of consideration before calling an ambulance as that pink water began leaking under the bathroom door.   
The house doesn’t want her to forget it either, it seems, as proven by the stain of Connor’s blood that fell on the carpet as he was being rushed out that refuses to leave, no matter now many thousands of dollars Larry spends trying to remove it. And the newspaper clippings that sit in one of the kitchen drawers about ‘Hero Sister Saves Brother’s Life’ that Cynthia will not get rid of no matter how much either of her kids beg.   
A warm hand finds itself holding Zoe’s hand.   
And Zoe doesn’t refuse it.   
She looks up at Evan, who is staring at the tiled floor with narrowed eyes and a red face.   
“What?” Zoe says, a slight teasing tone in her voice, “why are you blushing so much?”  
Evan jumps and takes his hand away from hers. He stares at her like a deer in headlights.   
“Hm? I—I don’t know? Just… warm in here, I think,”  
“Aw, do you have a crush on me?” Zoe teases, poking at Evan’s cheek.   
He laughs uncomfortably along.   
“Oh my god. You do,”  
“Used to. I used to! I used to have a crush on you. And then I got over it when we became friends because I realised I would honestly rather be friends with you than more and then you met Alana and I realised my chances were absolutely nothing and then maybe I might like someone else and then I completely got over you but maybe there’s still a part of my brain that thinks I’m not and—”  
“Evan. Calm down. It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about any of that. I would much rather be friends with you than anything more.” She places an arm around Evan and whispers, “besides, I like girls,”  
“Yeah! Yeah, I know that. I—I know that. I mean, I don’t blame you. I do too, so…”  
“Oh. Connor probably isn’t too happy about that,”  
Evan sinks. He groans.   
“Can I tell you something?” He buries his face in his hands. “Completely serious. No joking,”  
Zoe folds her hands in her lap and stares at the back of Evan’s head. “Yeah,”  
“Um, uh,” he laughs nervously, “I think I might like Connor? Like, more than just friends. We, um… we kissed. That’s why I’ve been so distant. Trying to, um, figure that out and everything. And maybe because I think I deserved it? Like, punishing myself for letting it happen for so long. I don’t know why I would even be punishing myself. It’s not like I really did anything wrong but I might have in some way or another that I’ve been trying to find but just _can’t_. And… I don’t know, Zoe, I’m scared. What if I fucked everything up by doing that? I should’ve at least told you guys where I was or what I was doing, or else we wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m such an ass,”  
“Okay. That’s a lot. Lets start from the top; you like Connor; but you also like girls. That’s just a simple case of bisexuality,”  
Evan leans back and nods. “Yeah. I know,”  
“That’s great! Thanks for telling me. And, you and Connor kissed,”  
Evan nods in confirmation.   
“Who initiated it?”  
“Connor,”  
“He likes you. You absolute blockhead. He likes you and wants to kiss you more, maybe even something other than your lips, if you get what I’m saying,”  
Evan blushes and nods, holding back a smile that does not want to be held back.   
“What else is there? Uh… oh, right, trying to figure everything out. What do you mean by ‘everything?’” Zoe continues. She suddenly regrets bringing up sexuality between Connor and Evan.   
Fair enough.   
“I don’t know. Figuring out why he kissed me, and why I kissed back, and whether I like him or not, and how to bring up to him that I wouldn’t mind dating him, and that he’s the only person that’s ever made me question myself, and… everything, really. That’s—nope. That didn’t answer your question at all,”  
“Yeah. It did. Finally, you think you deserved to not talk to us because… you don’t know,”  
“Yeah. And I know that I shouldn’t be beating myself up over just kissing him while we’re both boys because there’s nothing wrong with that but maybe because my dad pounded that it is wrong into my brain for so long it may have stuck a little bit and I feel guilty?”  
“Shit.” Zoe exhales. She leans back in her chair, shaking her head and staring up at the tiled ceiling. “Basically, Evan, you’ve got it bad for him. Like, real bad. It’s obvious. And it’s obvious you know this, whether you’re conscious of it or not, so why didn’t you just tell him before he went and tried killing himself again?”  
“I think you’re forgetting the part that I mention I have crippling anxiety,”  
“Right. Sorry. I—” Zoe sighs. The glass door swings open before she can continue, Larry and Cynthia almost running in and Cynthia falling onto Evan in a hug.   
She thanks him a thousand times, each time more sincere than the last, barely giving Evan enough time to say even a ‘hello.’ Larry, on the other hand, just gives Evan a firm handshake and ‘thank you,’ which sounds genuine and unnatural in his mouth. Zoe’s heard him say it a million times to people on the phone and work and stuff, but this is probably the first time she’s heard her father say it to someone and actually mean it.   
One of the nurses enters not soon after and tells Zoe and Evan to just go, it’ll be a long night, they have school in the morning, and adds Cynthia and Larry’s names to Connors paper to call if he wakes up.   
_If_.   
Even the nurses aren’t sure.   
When Larry drops Zoe off at home before heading to Evan’s, she sees a slight bit of grateful- and happiness in Evan’s face. She returns the look with a smile and enthusiastic wave as he speeds off in the back seat of Larry’s car.   
Zoe falls asleep with a little bit of regained hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i can’t believe yall thought the note at the end of chapter 22 was a john mulaney reference. god. it was just a general self defence tip  
> in all seriousness tho, i’ll be updating every saturday and wednesday till this shit ends. i’m currently working on another fic that is definitely going to be written better than this one. idk if you could tell but i got bored with this toward the end


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Evan bounces his leg violently, trying to stop and focus on the lesson currently going, but still 100 percent unconsciously. He’s had a problem with bouncing his leg for as long as he can remember, but it always gets worse when he’s stressed or worried about something. And the math test that Ms Taylor just announced for Friday is basically the only stressful, worrying thing going on in his life currently.   
Oh how he wishes that were the case.   
The mental image of Connor hooked up to countless wires and having needles stuck in his arm is—not great, to say the least. Evan remembers when he broke his arm and all the lengths they went to then to keep him conscious due to head injuries, the thought of everything they’re doing to Connor to _make_ him conscious is truly terrifying.   
The bell for fifth period, though Evan knows it as lunch hour, rings through the classrooms and halls, and within less than thirty seconds, the entire room is close to empty from people leaving, aside from Ms Taylor and himself.   
Ms Taylor isn’t one of the teachers Evan would say he likes, but he also doesn’t dislike her. She’s sort of like a witch. But a nice witch that’s super stern about everything. Evan stumbles as he struggles to get his math textbook back in his backpack. He can feel her eyes on him. He’s not sure if he’s okay with it or not.   
“Mr. Hansen?” Ms Taylor clears her throat and stands from her desk. She’s a short lady. Doesn’t make her less threatening, honestly.   
“Hm? Yeah? I’m sorry, yes?” Evan trips over his words and shoelace alike, zipping up the backpack lazily and racing to the front of the room, where Ms Taylor’s desk sits.   
“You’ve been out of it today, it seems. Moreso than usual, I should add,” she stares him down with a scary gaze, “is there any reason as to why?”  
“Uh, no, no, not that I can r-recall,”  
“Is that so?” Ms Taylor makes a gesture telling Evan to stay still despite the students entering the room and she reaching for her board of sticky notes next to the class phone. She plucks a pink one off the board and hands it to Evan, “I doubt you’re telling me the truth, due to the… implications of this message,”  
Evan takes the note with shaky hands. He can hear his heart beating. In small cursive writing, of which he recognizes immediately as Ms Taylor’s, reads _Evan Hansen. Murphy house. After school._  
“Uh, what—what do you mean ‘implications’?”  
“Every teacher in this building got an email informing us on what Connor _Murphy_ did this past Thursday. And since his parents want to meet with _you_ today, I can only assume you’re important in his life in some way or another. Am I wrong?”  
The bell rings again. Evan shakes his head, amazed that she was able to conclude that.   
“Uh, thanks. Thanks.”  
She offers Evan a small smile as he leaves the room, a smile in which Evan does not return or accept. 

Cynthia is the one that answers the door. Dark circles have made themselves at home under her usual bright blue and ready-to-take-on-life eyes and her hair is up in a loose bun. She greets him with a warm hug, comforting but still weak, and almost pulls him inside, a gust of warm (yet not welcoming) mahogany scented air attacks Evan’s face from the cold November air outside.   
Zoe is sitting on the bottom stair, staring at her phone and looking as if she just got home from school with backpack still on and dressed up for the cold. She must be boiling.   
“Evan, we would have had Zoe tell you, we just didn’t think of it, busy with other things after all,” a strained laugh escapes between Cynthia’s teeth, “but we were just about to leave for the hospital, be there for if Connor wakes up and all, and we just assumed you would like to go and the least we can do is drive you there,”  
“Oh, no, no, I’m fine. Really. Besides, I have homework to do and a math test to study for and I don’t think the floor of a hospital waiting room is the, uh, the best place to do that,” Evan says, eyes shifting all around the room for fear of looking someone in the eye. Zoe looks up at him with a sad look. A look that changes Evan’s mind almost instantly. He stays quiet, though, not wanting to sound rude or pitiful.   
“Please, Evan! You’ll be fine! You’ll have plenty of time after we get you home,” Cynthia pleads.  
Evan takes a breath and shifts his eyes between the desperate mother before him and the pained sister next to him. He purses his lips in fake descision making. A jerky nod confirms that, though the mass amount of homework and revision awaiting him, he will go to the hospital.   
Making sure your best friend is alive and well is better than good grades and a secure future, right?  
Oh, god. He’s not so sure in his descision now. 

But before he knows it, he’s shoved into the back seat of Cynthia’s car and the three of them are heading into town for the hospital.   
He feels more self-conscious than usual. It’s not often that he’s being driven somewhere by the parent of someone that he’s close with and also caused to try to kill themself. The event is so rare, though, that Evan can’t help but feel special, like he’s he only person to ever experience it. Even though there have been millions upon billions of people in the history of the world, this has probably happened to someone at some point. That sork of soaks his spirit.   
And, when he’s being driven places by someone, he’s usually sitting in the front seat and able to look out at the open road or talk happily with the driver and such, but now, he can’t do any of those without making everyone uncomfortable.   
He doesn’t want to speak—barely even breathe or move—in fear that Cynthia or Zoe will begin crying. Both of them are obviously so hurt and affected by Connor doing this that he fears when they open their mouths, crying will interrupt any words that attempt their escape.   
Consoling people when they’re crying has never been something Evan’s good at. When he was little it was easier; just share a cookie with them; or give them a handful of Lego blocks; or say they’re the bestest mommy ever and they’d be fine. Now, it’s not that easy. He never knows what to say or do. Does he touch them? Does he rub their shoulder? Does he hug them? Does he say some comforting words?  
And what if they reject him? What does he do then? Just sit there awkwardly and wait? That’s not the greatest thing to do.   
A sharp swerve to the left into the hospital parking lot reminds Evan of Connor in more ways that just one. He unconsciously reaches over to his left, expecting the arm of Connor to grab onto for balance. Instead, he’s just hit with heavy and cold air. 

Only one person is allowed in Connor’s room at a time.   
And neither Zoe or Evan feel comfortable going up and sitting in complete silence because of something they had hands in causing.   
So, in short, Zoe sits uncomfortably in one of the armchairs across from Evan in the hospital waiting room.   
She shifts her eyes around, shaking her head, taking note of the time, marking the soles of her shoes with blue stars, basically anything to avoid looking at Evan and having to initiate a conversation that will, lets face it, inevitably end with them sobbing in each other’s arms about how they’re scared and tired and gay, because that’s how things have been working around here recently. The sole of her shoe eventually runs out of room.   
Evan sits shaking opposite her, quite literally, legs tightly together and hands folded between them and stares at one dot on the floor. He holds back a few whimpers of sadness for Zoe; he knows she doesn’t want to speak right now. And he can’t blame her. This isn’t an ideal situation. At all. Waiting for the news from a nurse over whether or not a family member you’re actually beginning to rekindle with after years of fights and burning hatred is dead or not is, no surprise here, something that Evan doesn’t want happening.   
But it sort of is happening.   
He’s waiting for news over whether or not his best friend, soulmate, and maybe even person he could be falling in love with, is dead or not.   
There’s a sort of solidarity that settles in the air at Evan’s short conclusion. With the conclusion, though, another distraction from a pained conversation with Zoe leaves. He looks up at her slowly and cautiously.   
“Evan,” Zoe says without hesitation, as if she was waiting for him to look at her, “I can’t fucking stand this. This is—this is—god!”  
“What?”  
“I,” she exhales heavily through her nose, “I don’t understand why I had to say that? I told him to die in a car crash in a ditch. I said that! _To my own brother_! How—how did I sleep last night knowing that? I’m a disgusting human being. That’s it. That’s the only logical explaination,”  
Evan doesn’t reply. Because he doesn’t want to; or he doesn’t know what to say; or anything he says will be cheesy; or nothing he says will change her mind. He fixes his eyes on the fabric of his jeans.   
“Look, I’m sorry about my mom… earlier. She doesn’t really think in stressful situations like this. I’m sure you understand.” Zoe realises how uncomfortable her previous rambling made Evan, so she brushes that under the rug.   
“What? H-how would I understand that specifically?”  
“You have a mom, right? Or is she, like, dead or something? Dead, disappeared, left you?”  
 _Left you_. Oh, that’s funny. Great joke, Zoe. Amazing. The height of comedy. He should tell that one to his dad—oh wait.   
“No! No, I have a mom. I just… don’t see her very often? She’s always either at work or school, her only times off are from, like, midnight to about seven in the morning, so I don’t see her much. Obviously,”  
“Shit,” Zoe leans back in the blue faux leather chair, “that sounds pretty stressful… busy. Are you sure she isn’t crazy in stressful situations?”  
“I mean, she’s a good actor. Won awards in high school for her theatre… stuff. She doesn’t really show me the bad parts of her life,”  
 _Because who places their kid in front of a mirror and says ‘that’s you’ like with their pets_?  
Zoe replies with an ‘oh’ and doesn’t press the conversation. They both fix their eyes on the clock, which has been ticking loudly and steadily for longer than either of them thought, evident by the hands now showing the time of 5:14.   
The rushed clicking of heels against a tiled floor breaks the silence.   
Zoe purses her lips and busies herself with the backpack at her feet, digging around in it as if desperately looking for something that isn’t in it. It takes a few seconds for Evan to understand why, though it doesn’t take long for him to figure it out once Cynthia is standing in the hall of the waiting room. The clicking conveniently stops with Cynthia. Evan looks down at her feet.   
Who wears heels to a hospital?  
Sometimes he sort of grateful he’s not rich.   
Cynthia furrows her eyebrows at him. “What’s wrong? Why are you just sitting there?”  
Zoe sits up as if she’s surprised by her mother’s appearance.   
“Oh—I’m just… uh, waiting? This is a waiting room, after all,” Evan looks between the other two people in the room, searching desperately for some kind of amusement in their faces. He doesn’t find it. “I don’t know.”  
He gets why Zoe started looking through her backpack now.   
Cynthia sits down on the table next to Zoe, placing the magazines on her lap and probably hoping she doesn’t crush the bowl of candies and mints. Zoe pulls out a granola bar from her backpack; something so it seems she was actually looking for something other than an excuse to not make eye contact.   
“So, still no for-sure updates on Connor other than he broke his right arm and bruised a couple ribs,” Cynthia begins, trying to sound cheery. “He took the fall really hard, so they’re sort of just checking in on him every few hours to make sure he’s still breathing and everything, but they’re not sure what more to do in regards to bringing him back to consciousness other than hope,”  
She finishes with a quiet sigh.   
Connor also broke his arm. From falling out of a tree. It’s sort of unbelievable, what are the chances of that happening?   
Evan looks over at Zoe. She’s picking at the granola bar wrapper but not opening it and staring at the floor with a look that can only be described as guilty. Her mouth is closed in a tight thin line, eyebrows close with wrinkles between them, eyes nothing but vacant.   
An inhale between the teeth after a few beats of silence, then, “when can we go up and see him?”  
“That’s a question I can’t answer,” Cynthia says truthfully to Zoe’s question. “I’d think it’s safest to just have me up there until we have permission,”  
Of course.   
Evan’s had his fair share of let downs. Once when he was about eight, Heidi explained to him that they would be moving into another house, further away from his school at the time but closer to Jared, so that’s good! Another time at twelve when he began seeing a therapist and not just the school counsellor and she began prescribing pills with so many goddamn rules Evan began to space out as she listed them off.   
Add not being able to see his best friend (and soulmate) because of said best friend’s mom to the list. The mom who, truthfully, is a little selfish in this moment. Even if they aren’t allowing more than one person in that room with Connor, she can at least switch places with Evan or Zoe for even ten minutes. Or ask an employee if more are allowed in. It really doesn’t seem too hard for Cynthia considering she’s able to function like a normal human being.   
Zoe slouches back in her seat and stares at the ceiling, face showing the same emotion—guilty—as before but in another, more relaxed way. She twists the granola bar round and round in her hands.   
Cynthia slowly stands and leaves, placing the magazines back down like she almost forgot. Zoe lowers her head to look at Evan once the click, click, click of Cynthia’s heels is gone.   
“I’m not getting in that goddamn room until he’s awake and there’s someone with us. He would actually kill me,”  
“I doubt that,”  
“Try me, bitch,”  
She smiles in a way that reminds Evan too much of her brother. He never thought they looked too similar, truthfully, until short little moments like this. He does have a type, it seems. 

The air of his house is different.   
Evan doesn’t think much of it, just assuming it’s because of the news Cynthia shared, or maybe he’s still tense from the hospital, or it’s just his imagination.   
No.   
He knows exactly why when he turns the corner to the living room and Heidi looks up at him, her face sharpening and becoming considerably more scary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i want this to be done already. i’m so tired and the fic i’m currently working on is so much better


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four (point five)

Her headache is pounding.   
Her teeth feel gross.   
Her feet are sore.   
Her eyes refuse to stay open.   
She’s a mess.   
The thought of her bed is the only thing keeping her going right now. That and updates on Connor, though those are few and uneventful. The updates come in short messages back and forth between herself and Cynthia. Neither wantto talk, yet both feeling sort of pressured to.   
The pressure to check for updates every few seconds is very apparent as well.   
To see the updates she must turn on her phone. And Mr O’Reilly is notorious among students for being very anti-technology. And, by power of pure coincidence or convenience, she is currently in his class.   
It’s a boring class.   
The only way she gets through it without falling asleep is by talking with one of her friends; though any friend to talk to is currently sick or avoiding her for some unknown reason.   
Her phone buzzes. The way Mr O’Reilly is droning on about something his cat did, she assumes she’s safe to see the notification.   
_[Mom] now  
Hello sweetheart! Unfortunately no updates on your brother. If you could not unpack your bags after you get home today, that would be great, we are going to go straight to the hospital. _  
She’s sweet.   
“Miss Murphy?” Mr O’Reilly’s voice makes Zoe cringe. “Do I have you go over my rules on devices in my classroom?”  
“No, sir. It was just my mom, uh, telling me something—”  
“I’m very aware of your current situation and understand it’s stressful, but it can wait fifteen minutes until class is over. Understood?”  
Yes.   
“Yes,”  
If someone were to do something that takes the attention and away from her right now, her heart would stop beating so quick and she would be able to actually focus on the lesson going on only ten feet away. But whispers about what _situation_ Mr O’Reilly referred to and notes with questions on them don’t stop coming. She’s pretty sure she’s on the verge of a panic attack after only five minutes pass.   
God, she pities Evan right now. And, at the same time, is impressed by how he deals with this all the time.   
Mr O’Reilly keeps looking her way with his beady little rat eyes the rest of the class. Not in an ’I’m keeping my eyes on you’ kind of way, nor a ‘if I look at you enough you’ll answer the goddamn question’ way, but in a way that sort of says ‘they’ll stop soon. There’s nothing I can do about it, sorry.’  
The whispers don’t stop even when Mr O’Reilly hands out the homework assignment for the end of the week. It seems like Zoe is the only one actually paying attention to his explanation and instructions to the assignment. His instructions to the assignment finish with two minutes to spare.   
He’s very lenient with time.   
Zoe raises her hand, hoping something good will come out of these two remaining minutes.   
“Uh, sir, can I talk to the class for a second? It won’t take much time,”  
Yeah, no shit.   
Oh, god. Her palms are sweaty already. Blood rushes to her head and her jaw strains under the pressure. Blood rushing through her ears is the only thing she hears. Other than that rhyme. Fuck.   
Zoe wouldn’t consider herself too prone to panic attacks, especially with public speaking; she’s always been better than most at it. Now, those skills have vanished into thin air as if they’ve never been a natural part of her. Fuck.   
All eyes are on her. Almost thirty other pairs of expectant, curious eyes. That bore straight into her soul as if they can read her thoughts. One person across the room seems to actually read her thoughts and looks away. The rest of everyone else keeps staring and expecting a follow up.   
Guess she’ll have to deliver.   
“I, uh, I have ears so I can hear all you whispering about this _situation_ Mr O’Reilly referred to earlier, and I guess you’d like an explanation? Um, well, to keep it short, Connor tried, uh… killing himself the other day and is currently—still unconscious in the hospital. My mom was just, um, texting me updates on him, so, yeah…”  
A few gasps of surprise and concern fall through the room. People begin talking over one another, asking questions too quickly for Zoe to answer.   
“How’d he do it?” “Do they think he’ll wake up?” “Can we get him gifts?” “Can we visit him if he wakes up?”  
Ringing begins overlapping the questions coming at her left, right, and centre. With knees barely able to stay sturdy and tears fighting their way to freedom, Zoe gasps out a ‘no’ before collecting her stuff and racing out the room. The bell rings a few seconds later. She only barely finds refuge in the nearest empty room which so happens to be an abandoned bathroom.   
It smells like absolute shit.   
It smells like weed.   
Of course. The room she decided to enter to get away from thoughts of Connor, reminds her of Connor! Just her luck. Oh, but she can’t leave now. The hallways are full and what she definitely doesn’t need right now is people finding her and asking more questions about Connor.  
The room reminds her of the house every day over the summer. Thoughts of Connor plague her mind, making her finally understand why Connor smoked so much weed. He needed an escape that didn’t let anything else bother him. He needed something to help him stop thinking for a few hours.   
She wishes she were fourteen again, watching as Connor and their cousin got stoned out of their minds on Thanksgiving. She remembers being unafraid to try something new but also swearing to never get addicted and not even whispering as she asked to take a hit.   
She just wishes she had some weed.   
Or maybe a hug.   
Both would be great, actually. Preferably from Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got really lazy with this one so it’s only half the length of the rest of them


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

There’s only been a few times in Evan’s life that he’s been worried to see his mom; few enough to count on one hand, and even less he’s been actually scared of her. He thinks there should be more, considering his anxiety skyrockets around other people, but he also doesn’t see her very often and that leads to minimal negative interactions. Though he doesn’t see her often, she’s also been considerably good at reading people for decades, so up until he was about thirteen, he was convinced she knew all his darkest secrets.   
Like that one time Jared came over with two beers and they drank them in the back yard when they were twelve. Evan won’t lie—he didn’t have more than one sip of his beer, instead just dumped it all out and somehow convinced Jared he drank it. It wasn’t too hard, actually. Jared was drunk by the time he finished half the can.   
Or that other time over the summer between sophomore and junior year in which Evan accidentally lost five dollars worth of change after Heidi gave him a twenty on his way back from the store. He even walked all the way back to the store to try to find it again. To no avail, he didn’t find it, and had to tell Heidi he spent it all with no change at all.   
Since then, he’s made sure to keep a firm grip on any cash he has until completely necessary he doesn’t.   
And now, he needs two hands. The way Heidi looks at him is a new look that he’s never seen in anyone except Connor. It’s definitely angry, that the leading emotion, but there’s still a bit of pity and maybe even betrayal mixed in there. Yeah. It’s the exact look Connor gave him when he pushed him in the hall all those months ago. God—that sounds like it was six or more months. It’s only been two.   
And now Connor is in the hospital because he tried killing himself.   
Because of Evan.   
After they became best friends.   
Evan feels like throwing up under both Heidi’s stare and the knowledge that he is the reason Connor’s where he is.   
“M-mom! Hey, how’s it—uh, how are you?”  
“Don’t _how are you_ me,”  
So it’s one of those days.   
Oh, that makes it sound like this happens often. Truth be told, Evan barely sees her angry. Or barely sees her, full stop.   
“Uh, um, o-okay?”  
That isn’t the best response.   
Heidi stands, arms crossed tightly over her chest like the day they watched as Evan’s dad drove away for the last time; like she’s protecting herself from something. Truth be told, she shouldn’t be protecting herself right now, Evan should be protecting himself from the rapidly growing panic attack in his lungs and hands.   
“Can I ask you a question? Very simple question—very simple answer,”  
She really deserves those high school theatre awards, she’s a great actor. So good that Evan actually calms down for a second.   
“Sure?”  
“Where were you? Just now, where did you just come from?”  
A second.   
“I was with, uh, Connor. Just came back from his house. His mom—Mrs, er, Cynthia… Murphy—dropped me off because, uh, because Connor fell asleep and he couldn’t drive me.” Evan knows from the moment the words spill, he’s fucked up.   
She works at the hospital for God’s sake! She knows Connor’s currently checked in, she’s probably even been in his room. If not, at least close. She’s probably even seen Cynthia roaming the halls for snacks or other forms of entertainment to pass the time. Oh god they’ve probably talked; recognized each other from picking their respective kids up from school ten years ago. Moms have a good memory like that. Why do moms have to have a good memory like that?  
“That’s weird, because I was talking to Lucille today and she said there’s a boy, about seventeen or eighteen, currently checked into the hospital in emergency recovery. His name is Connor Murphy,” Heidi takes a step forward and Evan one back, “ring any bells?”  
“Uh, yeah? I—I, uh, didn’t know?”  
“Really? Because you just said you were with him. Or was that a different boy?”  
Perfect. That’s actually perfect. He just has to somehow convince her that the person Lucille was talking about is a different Connor Murphy. It’s a pretty common name. Well, not _it_ , rather _Connor_ is a common name, and _Murphy_ is a common name. It’s possible.   
“A—a different person, probably. Same name? It’s a small world, so…”  
Heidi takes in a deep breath between her teeth.   
Evan feels his knees weaken a bit. He slowly sits in the closest chair, staring at the floor and not daring look up at Heidi in fear of actually turning to stone.   
“Evan, look at me. Look at me!”   
He does. Heidi’s expression is unexplainable. She’s very obviously angry, but also tired and sad and betrayed and confused and all-around unwell.   
“Are you lying to me? Is that a different Connor Murphy?”  
Evan nods. Heidi looks like she’s going to explode.   
“Honey, I love you and all, but don’t lie to me! That’s your friend, Connor Murphy, in the hospital, in a _coma_! He’s in goddamn emergency recovery! And you didn’t once stop to think, ‘hey, maybe I should tell mom about this’?”  
Heidi leans against the island, shoulders shuddering lower and she stares Evan down, almost as if she’s trying to make him burst into flames.   
“I—I did! I did, I just… I didn’t know when? I didn’t have an opportunity to tell you, or else I would’ve. Definitely!”  
“You did, though. That’s the thing, you did have an opportunity,”  
Her voice softens up, seemingly realising the current state of her son. Evan fixes his eyes on the ground again, trying to focus on his breathing.   
“When? You’re never around for me to talk to,”  
“You can text me—or call me—hell, even email works. You can get ahold of me in ways other than face-to-face,”  
She’s right.   
God, Evan’s such an idiot. What the hell… he forgot to tell his own mother something so damn important.   
“I-I… I’m sorry,”  
“It seems like you’ve forgotten about me. Did you? Because these last couple months, all signs point to yes. It’s like I don’t even fucking exist,” the sadness is Heidi’s voice hits him like a dagger. She really thinks that. She actually believes that Evan forgot about her.   
“I haven’t forgotten about you!”  
“Have I just disappeared, then? Am I a ghost? You’ve been ignoring my texts and calls non-stop; barely say two words to me when we’re home at the same time.” Heidi’s voice breaks, “are you ignoring me?”  
“No! No, I’m just… I have friends? And have been, um, hanging out with them?”  
Evan tests the waters by raising his head to look at his mother.   
His mother. Who thinks he forgot about her. Who thinks he’s ignoring him. Who thinks her son is a liar. Who _knows_ her son is a liar.   
“What about this and last week? You’ve been home alone a lot, I haven’t seen any of them here. Have you been hiding them in the bathroom, or something? This isn’t okay, Evan, you’re lying directly to my face,”  
“Mom, I’m… I’m sorry.” He’s so overwhelmed and exhausted at this point that he truly can’t get any more words out other than, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,”  
Heidi purses her lips, shaking her head, and sitting in the chair across from Evan. She slowly places a hand on his upper arm, which isn’t met with a jerk away and scared sigh, rather leaning into the touch and finding comfort in something neither of them have felt in… years, really.   
Evan turns to her slowly. While he doesn’t dare meet her eyes, he looks up and avoids her gaze. It’s better than nothing. That’s what she used to say. At least try to make eye contact, and if you can’t, don’t look down. Look up around them. He’s only remembered and actually used that advice a couple times, this one of them.   
“Honey, stop apologizing. You sound like a broken record at this point,” Heidi focuses on the table. “I get that the situation you’re in is stressful and scary for anyone, much more with your anxiety, but you can’t push people away because of it. He’s your best friend, you should be bonding with his family in the meantime over things that aren’t—sitting in silence at the hospital,”  
Evan nods in agreement. He doesn’t dare tell her that he has been bonding with Zoe and Cynthia. That would make Heidi feel like she’s being forgotten _and_ replaced, and suddenly he has no home, no family, no friends, nothing because Heidi will kick him out for replacing her and the Murphy’s already have a son and the Kleinman’s don’t want a kid like Evan. He’ll spend the rest of his days on the street.   
“Go… play baseball with his dad, watch shitty romcoms with his mom. Connor told me he has a sister, you could get to know her a bit,” she teases, a small smile peeking out.   
But Evan doesn’t blush. He doesn’t ram his head into his arms and hide and stutter out a disagreement like he would have done only two months ago. He does feel his face pale and stomach churn and he does hide, though not in an embarrassed sort of way. It’s an ashamed sort of way, the only word Evan knows how to describe it.   
“I, uh… I do know her,” Evan mumbles. He doesn’t lift his head to face Heidi. “She, um, she’s in a relationship,”  
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. You’ll find another girl,”  
The sudden (four hundred) U-turn(s) this conversation took amazes Evan. Heidi went from yelling at him because she thinks she’s being replaced, to her empathizing with him because of Connor, to her trying to find him a girlfriend. He appreciates it. She’s trying. She’s just trying in the wrong way.   
“Y-yeah… I, uh, I…” Evan exhales. Is he doing this?  
He’s doing this.   
“I think, um, I might like Connor? And not in a friendship kind of way, but that’s still true I really like being with him and stuff, but also in a like _like_ way, like a… crush. And I still like girls, don’t get me wrong, they’re really pretty and everything, but so is Connor? So, uh, I guess what I’m saying is that I’m bi…”  
A pause.   
A tense silence.   
An “oh,”  
Evan now lifts his head, cringing as he imagines Heidi’s reaction. Oh god this was a mistake. She hates him. She’s gonna kick him out and there won’t be anywhere to go. Jared would make fun of him. Zoe would be uncomfortable. Connor would be uncomfortable. He’s going to live out the rest of his days on the street begging for money to survive and being kicked off of park benches. He’s going to be known city-wide for being that weird homeless kid that was kicked out because he’s bisexual and roams the streets admiring trees.   
“Oh. That’s… cool,” Heidi mutters.   
She doesn’t look like she hates him.   
She looks… there’s not a single word in the entire English language that can describe her expression. Proud, maybe? Shock is definitely one. Possibly even happiness.   
Evan can’t understand why she looks happy. Her son is a goddamn freak show; anxiety that makes him unable to do the simplest tasks; posture like a gargoyle; depression so deep down it’s basically another being with him at all times; the absolute inability to not blame himself for Connor’s suicide attempt; and on top of it all, he likes boys. It’s like the cherry on top of this flaming hot pile of human garbage.   
Great.   
Not another word is spoken the entire night. Only awkward glances and a relived sigh when Heidi leaves the house for her class tonight.  
Did he actually do that? Did he seriously tell his own mother that he likes Connor? When he hasn’t even told all his friends? Who in their right mind does that?  
At least he didn’t tell her absolutely everything. It way close too everything, though. He damn near told her all his darkest secrets, it was like they were readying themselves to escape. Only five minutes more and she would know every single little detail about him. Maybe telling her he’s bi was a good thing, after all.   
Or maybe it actually is a bad thing and now she doesn’t even want to look his direction but is trying to be supportive. He’s read about this online. Kids will come out to their parents and the parents will pretend it’s not happening and be in denial for the longest time until the kid does something to confirm it is happening and then the parent throws a fit.   
It’s like he’s stopped thinking altogether around certain people. Connor, and now Heidi. This is amazing. How ideal is this. He let it slip to Heidi that he likes Connor, he better not next time he talks to Connor. If that ever does happen.   
What’s he talking about? Of course that’s gonna happen. Cynthia said they estimated within the next few days. When it’s gonna happen, that’s a mystery. He may get the balls to see Connor in the hospital room or not, he may chicken out and not talk to Connor until a week after the chance arises, or maybe he just repeats last week and avoids Connor at all costs until Connor corners him and he’s forced to talk.   
None of them sound too ideal, but one will most definitely happen over the rest, and Evan just has to mentally prepare himself for any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shit. one more chapter then we’re finally done this pile of flaming garbage and then i publish the first chapter of my new fic. uh. that one will be better. like way better. please read that one when it’s published


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

There’s a bright white light just ahead.  
It slowly gets bigger and closer, until it’s nearly blinding him.  
He reaches forward, anxious to finally escape the hellhole of reality and be welcomed into the warmth and simultaneously freezing cold of death, eyes closing in bliss and to fully focus on the feeling of this warmth? Coldness? He’ll stick with just _feeling_.  
It’s sort of relieving to see, actually. He’s spent so many hours thinking about and dreaming of this finally coming true.  
_Beep… beep… beep…_  
That’s… weird. Beeping isn’t something he ever expected in heaven, or hell, who knows, but it may be there. The problem is, though, that the beeping doesn’t come from near the light; it comes from his right.  
So his eyes slowly open again, the light getting larger and larger, though not closer like before, and slowly turning into a tiled roof with long lightbulbs and dark holes. The beeping becomes faster and faster as he begins to realize where he is.  
A hospital room.  
Not on his way to a peaceful death, which he isn’t ashamed to admit, the more desired of the two.  
A gasp.  
“Oh my goodness!”  
Sweet Jesus.  
Cynthia pulls him into a tight hug, apparently completely ignoring anything he even _might_ be feeling right now. His head pounds with a headache, his right arm is stiff, back still not wanting to hold him up correctly. The moment Cynthia lets him go, he falls back into the fluffy white pillow and screws his eyes shut, still adjusting to the light.  
“What the fuck…” Connor mutters. He can feel Cynthia’s soft glare, she trying her damnest to be annoyed at his swearing but too caught up in happiness to fully commit. “I’m… what the—?”  
“Sweetie,” Cynthia says, “you’re awake,”  
No shit.  
“What day is it? What _time_ is it? Where’s everyone else?”  
“Right now? Tuesday, about 10 p.m.”  
Connor looks down, taking in the sights of the hospital room. Nothing is really out of the ordinary. There’s a table with some fake plant and a bunch of random magazines on it in the corner, a curtain separating his bed and another bed, a shitty TV hung up on the wall that only plays Shark Tank and maybe the shitty shows on Food Network if they’re lucky, and everything keeping him alive. The most notable thing, however, is the blank white cast covering his right arm.  
“And everyone else? Evan?”  
He probably wouldn’t even think of Evan specifically if not for the cast to remind him.  
That’s a lie. Why should he even try to convince himself he doesn’t want to see Evan? Of course he does. Say everything he didn’t get to say previously, don’t hold back at all in fear of this happening again.  
“At home. Asleep. Other than your father, he’s downstairs. I can go get him if you’d like,”  
Yeah, and see the goddamn twenty balloons he got celebrating Connor’s near-death? Playing ‘Ding Dong the Witch is Dead’ on a kazoo or some shit and becoming disappointed when he realizes that, no, the witch is not dead? “No thanks.”  
Cynthia leaves the room regardless, grinning from ear to ear as she does so, only to be replaced by some short and chubby redhead nurse who begins tending to Connor. She hums quietly and asks Connor a few questions—“How are you feeling? Is your pillow soft enough? Is the cast comfortable?”—to which Connor responds with ease. He’s answered most of these these questions before only a year ago; the last time he was here.  
The nurse follows in Cynthia’s steps while writing on a sheet of paper and leaving Connor alone in the room.  
The cast feels funny. It’s sort of strange, in all honesty. His arm is all stiff and heavy and he can’t do really anything with it. He can barely even hold the water the nurse offered and left on the table before she left. If he felt bad for Evan when he broke his arm, that was chump change. Now his own arm is broken and he actually understands. Though he feels a bit better when he remembers that Evan broke his non-dominant arm—Connor broke his dominant arm.  
How will he be able to furiously masturbate thinking of not-Evan into ungodly hours of the night now?  
The irony in both their broken limbs, though. They both fell from a tree, they both laid there for who knows how long, they both broke an arm in the process. The only difference is that Connor jumped from that tree with the sole intent of killing himself, Evan only climbing and losing his grip and falling.  
The more he thinks about it, the more he realises are similar between the two situations—enough to scare Connor. There’s a poking thought at the back of his head that tells him that Evan didn’t _fall_ from a tree, rather he let go.  
The same way Connor did.  
But, no. Evan doesn’t seem like the type of person to kill himself. Does he? No. Definitely not. He actually has a lot to live for—a good mom, decent friends, nobody whispers about how he’s probably gonna kill them. He actually deserves to live.  
Connor though, oh boy. A father that’s distant and uncaring, a mother that still treats him like he’s a little kid, a sister that will snap and want him to die in two minutes, friends that will avoid him because of one stupid fucking kiss, issues that aren’t solved with little pieces of chalky chemicals. He actually would be able to die and no one would give a shit.  
Evan? Killing himself?  
That’s a laugh.  
And maybe even a possibility.  
Connor feels himself slowly drift off to sleep again. 

Evan stares at the blank wall, truly not sure what to do or think or say or anything. He just sits and stares, the Murphy’s in tense silence in three other seats around the small waiting room.  
Zoe is reading a book, though her eyes aren’t moving and she hasn’t turned the page in almost half an hour now. Evan knows spacing out during a boring part of a book and going back and rereading is normal, but half an hour is a bit excessive.  
Cynthia is obsessively checking the clock that’s hung above the large glass door entrance. It's not like hours are going by in seconds, and Evan isn’t sure why she does so. It’s not like she has to update her Facebook with some post announcing Connors death any time soon.  
Larry is flipping through a magazine, his frown lines worse than ever and his hands trembling as he reads some article about marijuana becoming legal. He definitely doesn’t want to admit it, but he becomes terrified every time a doctor or nurse or even kitchen worker enters the room.  
And Evan is staring at the wall.  
And Evan looks over to Zoe.  
And he takes her hand comfortingly.  
“You alright?” He whispers. There’s really no need to whisper, though he feels it’s necessary in a room this quiet.  
She starts with a shrug, then she takes a deep breath in, and begins nodding. And then her face absolutely crumbles and she lets her book fall closed and she leans on Evan’s shoulder and lets sobs shake her body.  
“It’s fine,” Evan’s voice breaks, “he’s okay. You’re okay.”  
Zoe nods against his shoulder, wiping her eyes but a few tears still fall down her cheeks and onto the fabric of Evan’s shirt.  
“Thanks,” she mutters.  
A doctor enters the room with a clipboard.  
Zoe raises her head, preparing for any news to come.  
Cynthia finally looks away from the clock, holding her necklace and twirling the tiny pearl around and around.  
Larry looks up from the magazine and takes a shaky breath in.  
And Evan just sits expectantly, eyeing the doctor as he waits impatiently for his name to be said.  
“Uh, Evan Hansen?” The doctor calls and looks around the room. Evan’s heart stops, and Zoe raises his arm for him. The doctor smiles when he sees this. “Please, come with me,”  
Evan slowly stands, his hands sweating and legs weak under his weight. He follows the doctor quickly through the waiting room, through the main area, into the elevator, up to the fourth floor, and to room 421.  
God, if only they put Connor in one room down.  
It would be sort of perfect, actually.  
Or not, the more Evan thinks about it.  
The doctor opens the door and lets Evan in, closing it behind him and leaving the two boys alone.  
Evan stands completely still and listens to the steady beeping of Connor’s ECG.  
“What are you doing just standing here?”  
Connor’s voice is hoarse and tired and weak. He just sounds weak.  
Evan nods and takes a step in, seeing Connor awake in his god awful hospital gown for the first time. Though, Connor may as well be asleep, for his eyes are only half open, and he’s laying down wearily, and the bags under his eyes are darker than his eyes themselves. Evan takes immediate pity, but sits in the chair next to Connor’s bed nonetheless.  
“Hey,” Evan says breathless.  
“Hi,” Connor replies. He opens one eye fully and smiles at Evan.  
“So, uh, how’s it going?”  
“Oh, just fantastic. Having needles stuck everywhere and dealing with constant beeping of this thing is absolutely ideal. Not to mention the amazing view of my window,”  
They smile at each other for half a second.  
And then Evan crumbles.  
He sobs into his hand like Zoe into his shoulder, wiping his eyes only to be replaced by more tears only a second later, sniffling and breathing uncontrollably.  
“Oh, fuck, are you okay?” Connor sits up and widens his eyes at Evan.  
“I was so scared for you,” Evan says, pulling at his hair, “when they told me you had- I just broke down. I did this. In the middle of the school office. You should see your family. They’re the same way. I just—I’m so happy you’re okay,”  
Connor takes in a breath. “It didn’t seem like it last time I saw you,”  
Evan wipes his eyes slowly. His breath is shaky and the loudest thing in the room. Louder than the ECG.  
“What?”  
“You were fucking avoiding me. Everyone,” Connor says. He doesn’t seem angry, more… annoyed. Like he’s demanding answers without asking questions. “It was like you didn’t care if anything happened to me,”  
“That’s not true. That—that couldn’t be further from the truth,”  
Connor turns to Evan. He has this sort of untrusting and hurt look in his eyes that doesn’t make Evan feel any better. They stare at one another for a second or two, both waiting for the other to say something.  
“Why were you acting so weird?” Connor focuses again on the ceiling. His hands are folded against his stomach like he’s about to be buried. Evan’s not sure if this is on purpose or not, just to scare Evan.  
“I—I…”  
Don’t know would be the worst way to finish that sentence. And the simplest. Maybe coming clean about the truth and saying everything he told Zoe only a few days ago to Connor is the right way to go?  
“You what?”  
“I don’t think you want to hear it,”  
Connor scoffs. “If I didn’t want to hear it why would I ask?”  
Evan exhales loudly. He can’t argue with that logic.  
He looks up to stare at Connor and his sickly pale skin, dark bags under his eyes. His arms are weak and right one covered in a bulky cask. His hair is greasy and knotty from not being touched in a week. Connor looks like he could be dead. Evan dismisses that thought, for the hundredth time since Thursday. Besides, Connor isn’t dead. He’s alive and definitely not well but doing better than he was a day ago.  
“I—I like you?” Evan manages to say, “I distanced myself because I thought it would be better in the, uh, the long run, maybe? Because I needed to… figure shit out without any outside opinions, but I guess I realise that wasn’t the, um, best choice? Because now you’re here and I’ve figured out more in the last… four days than I have since Hallowe’en because I talked to Zoe and got an outside opinion. And she sort of made me fully realise that I—I really like you even though I’ve sort of always known it, I just never admitted it,” Evan shrugs, “so now, I guess I’m admitting it,”  
Connor leans back in his pillow and stares at the ceiling. “You didn’t have to do that,”  
“I know! I know. I didn’t want to burden anyone with my problems, though. I didn’t want them to figure out all my shit for me and me not do anything but sit back and listen,”  
Connor is silent.  
Evans mind races from thought to thought, never stopping on one for long enough to fully process it. He doesn’t blink as he stares at Connor, eyes not daring close in case he wakes up from some weird dream and Connor is gone and Connor is dead and Zoe and Jared aren’t his friend and Alana is still the only person that treats him as just that: a person. He doesn’t even look away when Connor turns to him.  
“That’s one of the reasons I tried ending it all, you know. You were thinking the same thing as a suicidal fuck-head. You don’t realize how much that terrifies me, Evan,” Connor whispers. Evans name sounds weird in his mouth. “You were thinking the same thing as me as I was about to kill myself. You could’ve done the same thing. You could’ve easily said ‘enough is enough’ and blindly did it, and none of us would’ve known because you cut off all communication,”  
Evan closes his eyes. Now he’s sort of wishing to open them and be alone again. But, sure enough, when they open again, there Connor is.  
“I tried killing myself by jumping out of a tree,” Connor says. He stops.  
Evan stares at the tiled floor.  
There’s a little part of his brain, urging and poking him to say something. Some specific thing that just won’t escape.  
“And, you know, I’m just thinking… if you were thinking something that a suicidal bitch was thinking, and—”  
“I did.”  
The wind is knocked out of Evan as he realizes what he just said. Connor seems to do the same. Evan takes a few deep breaths in and focuses on the floor again.  
“It’s okay,” Connor says.  
Evan can’t bring himself to reply.  
“Just… come here. You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re both alive, that has to count for something,”  
Evan rolls the chair over to the side of Connors bed. He looks up. Connor is sitting there, staring at him.  
“You’re not very good with words,” Evan says with a laugh.  
Though Connor isn’t good with words, they stick with Evan immediately. They’re both okay. They’re alive and doing just fine. They have friends. They have lives. They have lives worth living, finally.  
“I know,” Connor says. His voice is attempting to stay flat, though a bit of amusement seeps through.  
They sit and bask in each other’s presence, happy to be alive and together again, until a nurse knocks on the door with Zoe and tells Evan to leave.  
“They only let me have one person at a time,” Connor explains as Evan stands, “mom’s next. Larry’s last. Saving the best for last, y’know?”  
Evan laughs smally and nods in agreement. Zoe enters eagerly as soon as Evan steps into the hallway.  
The last thing Evan hears before being lead back down to the waiting room is Zoe shrieking about how it’s ‘negative bajillion degrees in this room!’ to Connor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we’re finally done this shit. only two more people are allowed to comment from now on  
> please read my newest wip 'serendipity' its so much better than timer  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/15908571


End file.
